


The Road to the Grail is Paved with Hermits

by Lenalena



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cap_Ironman Reverse Bang Challenge 2015, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Holy Grail, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Middle Ages, Mythical Beings & Creatures, POV Alternating, References to Monty Python, Time Travel, Virgin Steve, Virgin Steve Rogers, Witches, arthurian legends, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenalena/pseuds/Lenalena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has gotten himself stuck in the Middle Ages and he is desperately waiting to be rescued. After more than a year, he hears about a red and gold flying demon that has dared all of King Arthur's knights to come challenge it. He hopes this means that Iron Man has come for him, so that all he needs to do is find Tony and get out of this place. Should be simple. </p><p>Tony didn't even know where he would end up, when he went after Steve. It's not been an easy adjustment for him, to put it mildly. And once he has figured out how to find Steve in this primitive shit show, how the hell is going to get him back home?</p><p>Sir Thomas Malory meets Monty Python, with more hermits than any sensible story needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Sir Stephen Slays a Boar and Recalls How He Came to Camelot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellidfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/gifts).



> This fic is inspired by [art ](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/cap_ironman_2015_RBB/works/4125382)from [Ellid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/pseuds/Ellidfics) .  
>  And when I say inspired, I mean inspired!  
>  It's not like I ever woke up thinking: "You what needs to happen? Steve and Tony need to go looking for the Holy Grail!" But after I saw the art that Ellid produced for the Reverse Big Bang, it was obvious that that was exactly what they needed to do.  
>  Within the fic look for her art in Chapter 6 and Chapter 11 in particular.
> 
> Ellid was a joy to work with. She didn't even yell at me when I went WAY over the deadline. She just kept on producing more art, how awesome is that?!
> 
> Once again I begged Kate to be my beta, because she is the best beta ever. Her criticism is always spot on and her turn around time is phenomenal. Without her this would have been totally lame and OOC.

The men in the clearing tensed as the rustle in the underbrush became the loud cracks of snapping branches, overlaid with angry grunts. Everyone gripped their spears tighter and even Dinadan, who had been keeping up an innuendo laden string of jokes about men and spears, mostly featuring Galahad and his lack of experience, looked grim now. Angry boars were no joke and Steve, who'd only done this once before, knew that even the slightest moment of inattention could be fatal. Unlike the stags and the wolves who ran from hunters, boars were notoriously bad tempered and territorial and would fight back with everything they had. Steve looked around him. Tristan, Gareth Pretty Hands, Dinadan and Gaheris all had their boar spears solidly butted in the ground and angled in the right direction. The only chance of making a clean kill was to get the boar to impale itself on the spear, while it was planted in the ground. No one, except maybe Steve himself, could hold the spear in his hands and hope to keep a hold of it while 250 pounds of enraged pig tried to get at your guts with its tusks. Failing to make a clean kill was asking for death. Steve watched as Galahad, muttering in irritation, tried to wrestle his spear into the right position. He was the newest of Arthur's knights, seventeen years old and still very wet behind the ears.

The crashing and grunting was almost upon them and still Galahad was fidgeting with the heavy spear. Steve cursed silently. Did he think the boar was going to do the chivalrous thing and wait for him to be be ready? This wasn't going to end well.

Seconds later the boar burst out of the underbrush and proved him right. Its attention drawn by Galahad's panicked motion, it headed straight for the hapless boy. Galahad didn't freeze, Steve had to give him that, but his spear wasn't ready and it hit the massive beast in the shoulder instead of the chest. The boar spun and the movement wrenched the spear out of Galahad's hands. Screaming in rage and pain, it went for the boy. On the other side of the clearing, Steve has risen as soon as it was clear the boar wasn't headed his way, and lacking his shield, he did the only thing he could think of. He hurled the massive boar spear at the hog. This type of spear was never meant to be thrown, but the upside of being dosed with super serum was that you were able to throw a wide variety of things that weren't meant to be thrown. The spear caught the beast in the side of the neck and yanked it sideways, pinning it to the ground as it went clear through. But the wickedly curved tusk took a sizable chunk out of Galahad's thigh as the boar went down, and the boy collapsed screaming in pain. The animal was screaming too, its hooves pawing the air frantically, still refusing to die.

Steve sprinted over and pulled Galahad aside before yanking the boy's spear loose and aiming it at the hog's heart. After the thrust silence descended over the clearing. He straightened up, wiping his forehead and willing his adrenaline fueled breaths to even out. Raising his eyes he met the gaze of the other four men who were staring at him in shock. Right. That had probably been a bit much with the displays of super human strength and speed. He swallowed.

Then Dinadan broke into a grin, pounded Tristan on the back and proclaimed: "Well, that sure was some manly spear handling!" Steve started to smile tentatively, but then Galahad behind him bit back a broken sob. He turned to look at the boy, but not before he caught Gaheris crossing himself furtively out of the corner of his eye.

Galahad was in bad shape. The tusk had missed the artery in his groin, or else he'd be dead by now, but he was bleeding profusely. The others joined Steve, looking down at the boy. Tristan shook his head morosely and Gareth Pretty Hands bowed his head and started murmuring a quiet prayer. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Steve ripped a strip of linen from his under tunic and started fastening a tourniquet above the gaping wound.

"The village we passed had a healer. If we get him there quickly she can stitch him up and he'll have a chance." If he didn't get an infection, or blood poisoning, or gangrene, or if he didn't die in any of the other hundreds of creative ways this century seemed to delight in. Tristan seemed to read his thoughts, or maybe he was more of a realist in general.

"It seems doubtful he will make it that far. Maybe we should let him meet God in peace."

Steve searched for a way to phrase his objection in a way that would convince these men and their piously passive mindsets. Sometimes he really still felt like an alien here.

"We've stopped the bleeding. Maybe God will grant him a chance to heal so he can devote his youthful prowess to His service. I would not not deny him that chance, be it small or large," he tried.

Tristan merely shrugged, but Steve knew the man would let himself be led by Dinadan, as usual, so he fixed his eye on the short guy with the curly hair who was still beaming at him.

"Well said, Sir Stephen! Alright, fellows, back to the village we go."

Steve carefully picked up the wounded man, who had fortunately passed out while his fate was being decided and started walking towards the camp where they had left the horses.

"Wait! What do we do with the boar? It is rightfully yours, Sir Stephen. You made the kill." Gaheris interjected.

"Do with it what you will, Sir Gaheris. Leave it here or drag it along to the village. Surely they will be delighted to feast on the monster that has caused them so much grief. Would it not spoil before we got to Camelot?" He looked over his shoulder at Gaheris, who regarded him as if he was feeble minded.

“You would give your prize to the peasants?”

“I would,” said Steve. “They looked hungry to me. And it can pay the healer for the services Galahad needs.” He kept on walking. As an afterthought he added: “Take the tusks, Galahad may want them.”

 ***

 ***

They camped on top of a small tor which provided them a good view of the surroundings. Steve had second watch and positioned himself with the camp fire at his back so as not to spoil his night vision. He stared at the undulating landscape, oppressive in its blackness, with the fingernail moon hiding behind the clouds and not a light in sight. No orange glow from cities over the horizon, no cars with headlights, no streetlights. His sense of displacement often hit hardest on nights like this when there was nothing else to distract him. In the light of day, he could not escape the fact either that he was currently living in the Middle Ages, but at least there was little room for agonizing when he was hunting boar or doing sword drills or any of the other tasks that were required of the knights. As often as he told himself that he'd essentially done this time travel thing before, so he should be used to it, it didn't help with reconciling himself to the situation. He had just started to understand the difference between Apple and Android, and now he was having to learn to keep a calendar by memorizing saints' names. As a result he wasn't quite sure how long he'd been here, but it had been more than a year, judging by the passing of the seasons.

 

One moment he'd been standing over a downed Hawkeye, shielding him from whatever strange energy beams Loki was hurling at them and the next moment he was standing on a foggy little island in the middle of a lake, Loki's mocking voice still echoing in his head.

“Such a chivalrous man you are, Captain. You truly aren't from this time, are you? Let me remedy that for you.”

He'd stayed put on the island for as long as he could, because he remembered his mother's adage 'When you are lost, stay where you are, so I can find you', but after a few days his stomach had forced him to leave the island and find food. That's when he had found out how truly and utterly lost he was. For the second time in two years he was a man out of time.

This time it was much, much worse though. It had taken him a few weeks to even learn the language, for starters, because for all that it was supposed to be English, it really wasn't English that he recognized as such. He'd wandered around for a few weeks, trading manual labor for food and board while he was getting his bearings. Said food was another thing. No potatoes or tomatoes, no rice, no tea, no spices, it was weird. When he'd ended up at King Arthur's court he'd decided to stay put for a while. His prowess with his shield earned him a place between the knights, and since he had no clue where else to go, it was as good a place as any. But if he was making any effort to fit in, it was half hearted at best.

 

It had taken months for the hope to die. The hope that somebody, anybody, would figure out how to bring him back. Tony was supposed to be a genius, wasn't he? And Thor should by rights be able to undo what his brother did. Surely somebody would care enough to come for him. He had expected it to happen any day. But nobody had come. Month after month had passed and here he still was, without a clue of how to get back. If he was completely honest, a big part of his reluctance to fit in here was petulance and self pity. He'd been working so hard on fitting into the future for two years straight and he'd finally started feeling somewhat at home and somewhat connected to people like Sam and Natasha. And it had all been for nothing. Now he was living among people who didn't even know America existed or that the Earth moved around the Sun and he'd only stopped screaming his frustration into his pillow at night a few months ago.

Steve sighed heavily. Natasha would have his guts for garters if she saw him maudlin like this. So would Peggy, for that matter. And Tony would needle him with relentless sarcasm, because that was the kind of annoying guy he was. An annoying guy that he had imaginary conversations with these days, though, because it never failed to cheer Steve up a little to imagine what Tony would have to say about living in this particular era. Or to imagine Tony actually living in this era.

 

A moan from Galahad broke through his reverie. The village healer had stitched him up alright and swaddled the leg with a poultice and clean linen. She'd given him willow bark for pain and sent them on their way with more fortifying concoctions and a shake of her head. Now it remained to be seen whether he'd survive the blood loss and potential infections. With only the willow bark as pain killer it was a miracle Galahad had been sleeping at all. Steve knelt by his head and offered him the water skin, which he accepted gratefully. Green eyes looked up at Steve, so very much like Lancelot's, except now they looked a little feverish. Steve felt his forehead. Yes, his temperature was definitely high. Galahad cleared his throat.

"Are you an angel?" He croaked. Steve snorted indelicately and smiled.

"No, I am afraid I am just a mortal like you, Sir Galahad."

"I am not afraid to be mortal. I am not afraid to die. I would like to see the kingdom of heaven and sit at my Lord's side."

"I am glad to hear it, but you aren't ready for heaven quite yet."

"Why don't all people go to heaven, angel? Why do they sin? Why can't they follow the righteous path? It is so clear when God lights our way." Galahad sounded genuinely puzzled.

Steve felt old, all of a sudden. Young people, always so convinced they knew right from wrong. Then, with a stab of shame, he remembered himself telling Tony how self centered he was, hours before the man flew a nuke through a portal into outer space to save everyone in New York City. Okay, so maybe not so young people could be righteous asses too.

"You're young, Sir Galahad. You haven't encountered a lot of temptation yet," he offered.

"Why did my father...." Galahad trailed off, then spoke a little more forcefully. "Why does my father not like me?"

_Because you are a sanctimonious little twit._

"I am sure Lancelot will like you well enough once he gets to know you. You gave him no chance to get acquainted before you beat him in battle." _And you told him afterwards that he lost because he found no favor with God due to his conceiving you out of wedlock. That he was a sinner of the flesh and of thought._ "And perhaps you could have judged him less harshly in public."

"It was not I who judged him. It was God who favored my sword and therefore my words. God made it clear I was in the right."

"Yeah. Well. Judge not, lest ye be judged yourself." Steve was running out of patience rapidly. "Go back to sleep, son. You need your rest to heal." Galahad obediently closed his eyes.

 

Steve turned back to his outlook, scanning the surroundings for trouble, be it human or animal. He sighed again. Maybe Loki was right to move him here. Not because of the chivalry. There was a lot less reading poetry to ladies of the court than he'd expected. Maybe that was somewhere else. Maybe they flounced around in rose gardens reciting poetry in France.

Maybe Loki put him here because there were plenty of other sanctimonious pricks to keep him company.

 ***

 ***

Camelot was in disarray when the boar hunting party arrived home. Where normally half the population of the keep would come out to welcome them back and congratulate them on their prowess (and the boar's head that Gaheris had insisted on dragging along), now they barely merited a glance from the few people rushing from one end of the courtyard to the other. A pair of buckets were lying on the ground next to the well, their contents long since soaked into the cracks between the cobblestones, and an abandoned horse only half loaded with lumpy packs of something was trying to get at the weeds near the courtyard wall. Steve exchanged a worried glance with Tristan who indicated silently that he had no clue what was going on either, but whatever it was he didn't like it. Steve turned to his men.

"Okay, let's find out what happened here. Tether the horses and, Sir Gareth and Sir Dinadan, carry Galahad's litter. We can't leave him until we know more." The boy still lived, but his fever hadn't abated.

It took a few minutes to get everything ready, then they marched inside. Tristan and Steve in front, swords sheathed, but Steve had his shield at the ready. The others followed with the litter, and Gaheris fell in behind to watch their backs. They made their way to the throne room slowly. A few older servants were crying in an alcove and one young girl, that Steve had always thought was too excitable for her own good, was having a bout of hysterics, while several women were trying to calm her down. He could hear the commotion in the throne room long before they made it to the doors. Several people were trying to outshout each other and could be heard over the din of the excited voices of what seemed to be everyone in the keep who wasn't having a breakdown in the hallway.

Steve paused in the entrance to the hall and surveyed the scene. Arthur and Guinevere were seated on the dais, with all the knights milling about in front of them, the rest of the keep's inhabitants crowded around them. The shouting turned out to be Sir Gawaine having an argument with his brother Sir Agravaine, which was not uncommon and definitely not something that normally drew an audience this size.

"You cannot forbid me to go, brother!" Gawaine was adamant. "The demon doesn't scare me and that Grail looks like a fine prize. Why would you deny me such a grand adventure?"

"You have plenty of adventure, oh virtuous one," Agravaine shot back, his tone implying that Gawaine was anything but virtuous. "Do you not remember that you cut off the Green Knight's head almost a year ago and you swore to have him return the favor a year and a day hence? You are due at his castle in two months and you do not even know where it is." He didn't add 'idiot', but Steve and everyone else could hear it loud and clear.

Gawaine merely grinned at him. "Why, has it been that long already? Can't wait to be rid of me again? Surely I have time for a little side trip." He turned to the king. "What do you say, Sire?" Arthur regarded both brothers.

"You can not break your word and forfeit one quest in favor of another, Sir Gawaine. You can go look for this Grail, but you can not swear that you will complete the quest. When the time comes to meet the Green Knight, you must abandon your search and fulfill your word." Gawaine turned to smirk at his brother and for a moment Steve thought he might stick out his tongue at him. Arthur looked up and noticed the newcomers by the door. He hailed the men gathered there.

"Sir Tristan, Sir Stephen, you have returned! You have just missed the most wondrous visitation. There was a chalice filled with wondrous light. It was shown to us by a vile demon who challenged the noblest and most virtuous of knights to come and find it." Before he could elaborate further, though, his eye fell on Galahad's litter as the party made its way into room and he paused.

"How fares Sir Galahad?" His voice was hesitant and his eyes cut over to Lancelot for a fraction of a second.

"Sir Galahad was wounded in the thigh, Sire, and he is feverish, but he has survived so far and may yet recover with time. The boar is no more." Steve answered. In his peripheral vision he noticed Galahad struggling to sit up.

"It was the Grail?" He said, almost panting with the struggle. "Sire, you must allow me to search for it. It is what I was born for. I need to-" He fell back down on the litter with a little gasp.

"It pains me to say it, but you are in no condition to travel, Sir Galahad. I can not permit you to go anywhere until you are healed."

"But, Sire, I..." Galahad trailed off in sobs. Soft as they were, they pierced the silence. Many of the knights looked uncomfortable.

"I swear I will find it and bring it back for you, Sir Galahad." Lancelot's voice was firm. Everyone looked at him. Steve could tell Galahad wanted to protest, but he quelled the boy with a look. When he was confident Galahad had gotten the message that if he didn't have something nice to say then he shouldn't say anything, he brought his attention back to the situation at hand. Both Arthur and Guinevere looked like they wanted to protest. Steve didn't get their dynamics, really. Ostensibly the word was that Arthur was being cuckolded by his best friend and his wife and Steve thought that was probably true given the looks he'd intercepted between Lancelot and the Queen, but in Steve's personal opinion it wasn't really all that clear cut who Arthur was jealous of in this situation. The way he looked at Lancelot was often more heated than the way he looked at his wife. Could be jealous rage, of course, but Steve didn't think that was it. The stricken way the royal pair looked just now reaffirmed his opinion they would both be pining for Lancelot in his absence. But Arthur had no choice but to affirm Lancelot's decision, now that he had sworn to it.

Behind Steve, Dinadan sniggered. "Well, with these two most virtuous of knights going on a quest for virtue, how can we fail to win the prize?"

Lancelot flushed. Gaheris, who had a tenuous hold of his temper at the best of time, punched Dinadan between the shoulder blades and growled at him to not insult his brother. This caused Dinadan to almost drop his end of the litter and Galahad groaned in pain at the jolt.

"Oh relax, brother," laughed Gawaine, "no one is questioning _your_ virtue."

When the commotion had died down Arthur asked who else was volunteering to go. Steve kept his mouth shut. Demons were nasty and while he kind of felt he should participate in ridding the world of one, holy cup or no holy cup, he'd just gotten back and he wanted a bath and a bed and a bit of a break. If these men couldn't manage the job, he could always go later. Two more young (and significantly more virtuous) knights volunteered. Bors was short and stout and had an annoying tendency to see everything in shades of black and white with nothing in between, ever, and Percival was tall and lean and surprisingly strong. Steve hadn't figured out yet if he was stupid or just ignorant. He was about to take his leave and go find that bath when Percival started to address the the other Grail Knights who had gathered in a cluster to make plans.

"I have seen the Grail before, although it looked a bit different, but there was a cloth over it, so I can't be sure. I failed to ask a question, though, that was what my cousin said later, anyway. I can't remember the question. And then I was turned out of the castle and the gate would not open for me no matter how much I shouted. And there was other stuff as well, a bleeding lance and a candelabra and a broken sword. But they must have moved it because I don't think the castle was named Castle Aaargh and I don't remember a demon called Shawarma, either."

Steve stopped dead in his tracks. A castle called Aaargh and a demon called _what_? He spun around.

"Sir Percival! What did that demon look like?"

Percival looked at Steve in surprise. "Could you not see him? Oh! You weren't here. Right. Well, he was red and gold and he had icy blue fire shooting out of his feet and hands and his chest. And his eyes were empty and soulless and his voice was as loud as...." He continued on, but Steve wasn't listening anymore. Hope speared through him, hot and urgent and almost leaving him unable to speak. It couldn't be, but it couldn't not be. Tony had been here. Oh sweet Mary, mother of God, someone had come for him. He wanted to fall to his knees and cry.

When he found his voice, he turned to King Arthur and said: "I am going too. I swear I will find this demon and vanquish him."

Arthur looked a little constipated, but Steve didn't care one bit. He was going to find Tony and get out of this place.

 

 


	2. In which Lord Anthony Receives a Great Surprise and Discerns that He is Verily An Idiot

Two months earlier

 

It had taken the Avengers months to track Loki down after he'd vanished Steve, and Tony was ready to strangle the man. Leprechaun. God. Whatever he was.

Thor held Loki by the neck while the rest of them, plus Sam, glared at him, but Tony thought they could be forgiven for not trusting Thor to actually have him under control. As far as Tony had seen, Loki played his brother like a piano, so Tony wasn't standing down or anything stupid like that. He had only lifted the face plate on the armor. Loki was sporting that infuriating grin that meant he knew things that you didn't and yes, strangling sounded just lovely.

"Where is he?" Natasha sounded deceptively pleasant. Loki turned up the wattage of his grin.

" _Where_ is such a limited question, my dear. Why constrain yourself to _where_?"

Natasha pursed her lips a moment. "What did you do to him?"

Now Loki pouted. "Aw, you're not playing my game. You're no fun." He stuck his bottom lip out. Thor squeezed a little harder and the pout turned into a grimace. Natasha started cleaning her fingernails with a knife that had appeared out of nowhere.

Loki conceded: "Fine. I moved him."

Tony barely stopped himself from growling "Moved him where?" Because of course that is what Loki was setting them up for, the childish prick.

"Move him back here." Natasha wasn't falling for it either. Loki made a dramatically sad face.

"Alas! I wish I could! But I can't. It's a spell and spells have conditions. Only by meeting the conditions can he come back."

Natasha looked at Thor, raising one questioning eyebrow.

Thor shrugged. "As far as I know, he speaks truth. I have no magic, but my mother always said spells can't be undone until they have played out as they are set."

"What are the conditions?" Sam asked.

"Well..." Loki hedged. After another squeeze from Thor he added: "Someone can go after him. Then both of them will be able to come back together."

"Fine," said Natasha, "You go after him and bring him back."

"So sorry, my dear, but no can do. It has to be the person with the strongest connection to our dear captain."

The Avengers all looked at each other and then settled on Sam. Who pointed at himself in surprise. "Me? You think he feels the strongest about me?"

"Either you or Natasha, I'd think," considered Bruce. "He's befriended you of his own accord and both of you have spent a lot of time with him recently. I wouldn't know who else would qualify, really." He looked at Tony. "Do you?"

"Nope. My bet is Sam #1 and Black Widow #2. I don't have a number three. What do you say, Hawkeye?" Tony turned to Clint.

"Depends on whether he secretly has the hots for Natasha. Then she'd be number one. What do you think, Nat? Does he want in your pants?" Clint waggled his eyebrows at her.

Tony grimaced in distaste. He so did not want to think about Captain America's sex life. If it was anything, it was probably all missionary position with the lights off and respecting her in the morning. Yech.

Natasha shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm thinking it's Falcon too." She turned back to Loki. "How do we find out who can go get him?" Loki unearthed a glowing globe about the size of a tennis ball out of a pocket. Its blue light was pulsating steadily, as if it had a heartbeat.

“Behold your transport device!” He crowed. “And may it bring you a lot of joy. And the good captain, of course.” He looked at Sam. “It will only work for the right person. Since I am still here, we can safely assume I spoke the truth and it is not me, no matter how much he hates me. Would you like to try it?" His grin was turning positively diabolical, Tony thought. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this. Something that Loki found this funny, was almost guaranteed to be very bad indeed. Loki tossed the ball to Sam, who caught it easily.

Nothing happened.

Sam shrugged and handed the ball to Natasha.

Nothing.

She offered it to Bruce, who started to protest: "It can't possibly be me, I barely know him. Is there a secret crush we don't know about?"

"Not for my lack of trying," said Natasha. "Just take it, Bruce. We'll try everyone in this room just to rule them out and then we can think about whom we can possible have missed." Bruce shrugged and took the ball from her. Nothing.

Clint: nothing.

Clint held the ball out to Tony. He hesitated in taking it. There was a weird vibe about the thing that he did not like at all. He glanced sideways at Loki. The god was still sporting that grin, but he seemed to have gone a little tense around the eyes. Maybe Tony was imagining things, though. The way he and Steve barely managed to be civil to each other, and that being an improvement over the way they met, there was no chance in fucking hell this particular portkey was going to work for him. He grabbed the ball.

Immediately he was surrounded by a bright blue glow and his hand started to tingle. The feeling quickly moved up his arm.

"What the ever living fuck!"

He looked at Natasha and Sam, who were staring back at him with mouths open.

"How is this possible? How can he possibly hate me more than he likes you two? This is ridiculous!" He swung towards Loki, who was outright laughing now. "How can he possibly hate me more than he hates you, you sniveling twat!?"

The tingling was spreading over his chest an down his other arm now. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth for a moment and forced himself to stop railing, because he could feel he was running out of time. He strode over to Loki and grabbed his ear forcefully.

"How do we get back here? Tell me! Now! Or your ear goes with me."

He flinched back and dropped his hand when he found himself suddenly holding his father's ear.

“You're out of your depth. As usual. Anthony,” Howard Stark's voice admonished him, the familiar disappointment in it sending shivers of almost forgotten humiliation through Tony's frame. “We all know you are going to fail, like you always do. Just try not to bring the family name down when you do, this time, will you? Maybe you could fail more.... discreetly? I'd consider that progress.”

“You fucking asshole,” Tony hissed, not sure if he meant his father or Loki.

Howard turned into Pepper. She looked peeved, but oddly fragile with Thor's big hand on her neck, which made her more bearably fake, because she'd never looked fragile to Tony.

“Honestly, Tony. You're running out of time. Just because I broke up with you, doesn't mean I am not still your CEO. I expect you back here in two months with Steve and that orb, or there will be dire consequences. I mean it!” She even stamped her foot. The tingling was spreading to Tony's legs and his anger was replaced by apprehension. He hated going blindly into the unknown. He hoped to god there weren't going to be any Chitauri ships waiting for him wherever the hell he was going.

"Where the hell am I going?" He couldn't help asking, even if it felt like defeat.

Pepper smiled her sweetest smile. “Somewhere all those noble urges to save people are much appreciated. Oh, wait. That's Steve, not you. You will have a much more difficult time, I'm afraid. It's really not a good place for you.”

The tingling had reached his feet and there was a ringing in his ears. Then his vision blued out.

 ***

 ***

When Tony opened his eyes he couldn't see squat. He was lying on his back on some grassy hill, looking up into a sky that was dark. The stars were obscured by a dense fog. Lovely. His fingers were still tingling a bit, but looking at his hand, he noticed that the glowy sphere was gone. He managed to sit up. Shouldn't leave the armor in the wet grass for too long. Titanium alloys didn't rust, but still. It just didn't seem like the wise thing to do. He tried a beam of light, but it just reflected on the mist. So that was pointless. Right.

"JARVIS, where are we?"

There was a hesitation before his AI spoke and that was so unusual that Tony felt a sudden wave of apprehension.

"I... don't know, Sir." The alarm ramped up. "I can't sense any satellites overhead. I don't think my sensors are blocked, we seem to be out in the open. There just don't seem to be any." That was insane. There was no place on Earth that was out of reach of all satellites. You could get a satellite signal in the Mongolian steppes, for chrissakes.

"In fact," JARVIS continued, "I do not sense any electromagnetic signals at all. No power lines nearby. No phone lines." If Tony hadn't already ruled out the Mongolian steppes, they would have climbed the list after that announcement, together with the Himalayas, the Sahara and the heart of the Amazon rain forest. If it hadn't been abundantly clear he was stuck somewhere with a fairly temperate climate and not too ridiculously far from sea level, anyway. Maybe that glowy ball had damaged some of the sensors JARVIS relied on. That, or Loki had dumped him on a different planet. But that didn't seem likely. This place smelled like Earth, had the same gravity, the same oxygen content as far as he could tell and the grass seemed entirely grass-like. Nope. Must be magical damage. Fucking gods.

"I cannot access my databases, either, Sir." JARVIS sounded mournful. "I only have the actual data you've uploaded to the suit." The way he said it, Tony had a sense he might possibly come to regret deleting a bunch of data to make room for the entire StarkTunes music library recently. It had been an emergency, of course. He'd been stuck on a long boring Avengers mission without a particularly obscure Black Sabbath bootleg he was jonesing to hear, and the experience had been so traumatic, he'd had to make sure that would never, ever happen again. Still. Now he was wondering what he had decided to delete. And if it would be relevant in his current situation.

He sighed. "Right. So I can't see anything and you can't sense anything... I guess we wait for daylight."

 ***

 ***

Daylight came and Tony woke with a start, disoriented and wondering why the hell he had slept in the armor in wet grass. Then it all came rushing back and he knew he slept in the armor precisely because the grass was wet and he had no blankets. He'd stayed up for hours alternately wondering why he was here instead of Sam, worrying about Steve's well being and plotting Loki's slow and painful demise. It had been spectacularly unproductive and eventually sleep had won over the need to keep the armor pristine. Now he sat up and looked around him. The fog had lifted only a little, but there was some watery sunshine coming through the wisps and visibility was dramatically improved over last night, even if it wasn't one hundred percent yet.

He was sitting on a smallish grassy island in a fairly extensive lake. There was a stone circle on the island, like a mini Stonehenge type thing, and that made it very likely he was somewhere on the British Isles. JARVIS's sensors must be malfunctioning then, there was no way there were places without satellite signals in Britain. A few rabbits were hopping along, but otherwise the island was deserted. Not even a smidgen of a sign of Steve. Figured. Things couldn't be as easy as that, of course.

Well, he would find him in due time. First he was going to find a hotel because he needed a shower and about a gallon of coffee. Then he would put together a plan of action, and he would find Steve and catch a flight back to the good old US of A. First class of course, because sleeping in the armor made his back hurt. Cursing the fact that he wasn't twenty anymore, he cracked his neck and stretched his muscles and then blasted off, heading North. It was as good a direction as any.

 

It was a fortunate pick, because there turned out to be a village at the edge of the lake in that direction. It looked quaint. Very, very quaint, in fact. Maybe it was one of those hippie towns where New Age nuts gathered in stone circles, like the one behind him, to participate in fake rituals that involved dreadful music. He could see from afar that there was some sort of market going on on the main square. That seemed like a good place to pick up some coffee, breakfast and information, in that order. He just hoped it wasn't like a craft fair or anything, because he wasn't in the mood for crystal beads and hemp clothing and all that shit.

 

 

Tony was used to a little excitement whenever he arrived somewhere as Iron Man, and there were usually a few apprehensive ones among the crowd. But he'd never gotten a reaction like this. People were pointing and screaming at him long before he got anywhere near and then they all started running in obvious fear. All of them. Not a single person remained when Tony touched ground in the middle of the square. What the ever living fuck? He looked around him in astonishment as his brain desperately tried to process what he was seeing and make it add up to something that made sense in his world.

The square was not paved, for starters. He was standing on compacted earth. The stalls were not like any stalls Tony had ever seen in a market. If fact, most of them seem to just be carts rolled into place haphazardly. Carts that looked like they'd have to be pulled by horses or oxen. There were vegetables in the carts, and caged live chickens that were making a terrible ruckus, and he spotted a table with baked goods, and one with rounds of cheese. Strangely, there was no sign of any stalls with knock off designer crap, or taco trucks or ten dollar chair massages. No neon colored price tags. No cars. At _all_. The houses around the square looked.... really rickety. Was this some sort of museum village? Had he crashed a Ren Faire? The only new looking building was the church, which was in Anglo-Saxon style, and it looked very fresh and sturdy. In fact, it looked brand spanking new instead of a thousand years old...

A little pool of dread settled in his stomach. No. Nonononono. It couldn't be. Loki wouldn't send him back in time. He wouldn't do that to Steve. He wouldn't.... Who the fuck was he kidding? Of course the asshole would. That is why he had been so insufferably coy about the 'where' question. Tony closed his eyes in exasperation. And took a deep breath. Let loose a string of curses and took another deep breath. No satellites, no power lines. Of course there weren't any.

"JARVIS? _When_ do you think we are?"

"Hard to say, Sir. I estimate sometime between 800 and 1200 AD. Give or take a century or two."

Great. Just fucking great. What the hell was he supposed to do with vague numbers like that? So there was no GPS and there were no phones and no showers and no first class flights. Then he cursed again when he realized coffee wouldn't be introduced on this continent until Columbus had gone and massacred a bunch of Indians in South America.

He was going to die. He was going to die in agony.

The contemplation of his imminent demise from caffeine withdrawal was disrupted by the arrival of a man on horseback, entering the square. Tony regarded him curiously. If he disregarded a few decades of contamination by Hollywood movies that had sported actors with flawless teeth and better skin care routines, he supposed the man could pass for a knight. He was bit long in the tooth, although as far as Tony knew this is what people looked like at twenty-five in this day and age. He didn't think so though. He really looked closer to sixty. The man had a shield with a black dragon on it and a sword that he had raised in front of him. It wavered a bit and his helmet could not quite hide the fear in his eyes. The horse's eyes were even wilder, but it was obviously trained to stand its ground in the face of danger.

Tony tried to imagine what Iron Man would look like to a Medieval knight and came to the conclusion he'd be surprised if the guy hadn't wet his pants by now. He shot up to hover a foot or two above the ground and the man started shouting at him. Tony supposed it was English, but it really sounded a lot more like German to him and besides a word that sounded suspiciously like 'demon' he couldn't understand a word of it.

"JARVIS?"

"I believe he is saying 'Begone, demon! Our Lord protects the innocent souls of this... slumber party? I am sorry, Sir. The recent expansion of your music library has left a few holes in my Old English database."

"I think we can safely assume he means this ramshackle heap of hovels rather than a slumber party."

"Verily, Sir"

"Don't sass me, you doddering stack of punch cards. This is no joke. There won't even be any coffee here for the next six hundred years or so." Saying it out loud made it uncomfortably real. He turned his attention back to the trembling knight to divert himself from the sinking feeling in his gut. The man was now fumbling with a sack tied to his horse's saddle. He shouted some more gibberish and the horse started walking backwards slowly while the man tossed the sack towards Tony. The top opened and gold and silver coins spilled out, plus a candlestick. Tony felt momentarily insulted that they were trying to buy him off. Like he couldn't flatten this sorry excuse for a village in under five minutes. Like a bag of gold coins were going to tempt him, Tony Stark, genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist. And then he realized two things pretty much simultaneously.

First, that there was nothing, literally nothing, that could harm the Iron Man armor in this era. He could rule this country as decisively as Sauron ruled Mordor if he so desired. That wasn't as happy a thought as he would have thought it'd be.

The second thing he realized was that he was not a billionaire here, because his bank accounts, or even his bank, didn't exist yet. Also, nobody would accept the black AmEx card he kept stashed in the armor for emergencies. And once you scratched the billionaire part, that effectively took care of the philanthropy part and if he was honest, a significant chunk of the playboy part. He was reduced to being just a genius. One that was being mistaken for a demon at the moment, much to his chagrin, but he didn't think opening his helmet and shouting a friendly greeting was going to get him anything more than an arrow in the head.

He reconsidered the bag of coins. The knight had withdrawn to the edge of the square, watching warily and obviously praying Tony would take the bribe and he, as the local law enforcement, wouldn't have to commit suicide by demon. Tony knew he was going to need clothes. And lodging. And food. And lots and lots of alcohol, to deal with this clusterfuck. Sighing, he swallowed his pride, snatched up the bag of coins and a loaf of bread from one of the tables. As he picked up the bread he heard a crying sound come from somewhere below. He stuffed the bread into the sack of coins and sank onto his haunches to look under the table.

There was a large wicker basket that was rocking slightly as if what was in it was trying to punch its way out. He pulled the basket towards him, out from under the table. He heard a woman shriek from not too far away, but when he looked up, nothing was happening. He opened up the basket and looked down at the tear stained face of a little girl, that was maybe a year old or so. One of her arms ended in a little nub instead of a hand. She was also running a fever and was covered in spots on her arms and face. Her wispy red hair was plastered to her head with sweat. She had scratched her cheek with her one hand and it looked swollen and infected. The poor thing needed a doctor, not a basket. He had to get her to a hospital!

With a sinking feeling he realized there were no hospitals. And that there was absolutely nothing he could do for this poor child. He felt powerless in a way he'd never experienced before. He swallowed down a lump in his throat. The little girl was obviously loved despite her disfiguration, her clothes were clean and soft and the basket was lined with wool to keep her comfortable. She had stopped crying and was looking at him in wonder, reaching with her one tear stained, snot smeared hand up towards his face plate. Tony pressed his lips together and swallowed again with difficulty. He blindly reached into the bag and grabbed a handful of coins. He quickly shoved them under the wool bedding. He was about to get up and leave when he thought of what the people hiding in the alleys might do to a child touched by a demon. That could not possibly end well for this girl. She might not survive anyway, with whatever disease she was suffering from, but Tony couldn't screw up the little chance that she still had. So he leaned forward with his face to her outstretched hand and let it touch the metal. He pretended to be flung backwards by the force of her touch, pretended that it had somehow burned him, bellowing in agony. He heard the girl giggle as he staggered away with his sack and then he fired the thrusters and took to the air. A moment later a crying woman came running towards the basket. Tony hoped she'd be smart enough not to show the money to anyone else, he wouldn't put it past them to want it back.

He had been here less than twenty four hours and he already hated the Middle Ages. Loki/Pepper had been right. This was going to be difficult for him.

 ***

 ***

Finding Steve was easily the most depressing job Tony had ever had. And some days he was even counting pretending to build a big gun in a cave in Afghanistan with a hole in his chest among those. At least he'd had tools there, and a plan. The first village had not been a fluke. Everyone he faced as Iron Man either ran screaming or fell on their knees praying like televangelists. Asking if they'd seen or heard of a big blond dude with a star on his shield didn't produce any coherent answers and was therefore pointless.

Whenever he approached a keep or castle, the gates and shutters would slam closed and the few times he'd flown over the walls and landed in the courtyard to ask some questions, he'd been showered in arrows and, on one memorable occasion, boiling oil. It had taken him forever to clean it off the armor.

Without the armor, things were almost worse. It took ages to get anywhere on foot and then he had to do without the whispered translations (that were admittedly a little spotty) provided by JARVIS, who was sadly confined to the suit. Old English was fucking hard and his brain was wired to be more technical than linguistic, so he wasn't picking it up very rapidly. He was fairly sure Steve's eidetic memory had made the learning process much easier for him and Tony was a little jealous, but also relieved that he might be suffering less than Tony.

His hope of a quick return to more civilized state of living had died a slow and agonizing death about a week into the search. There were too many places Steve could be and there was not enough time in the day to visit them all on foot, or even on horseback. Tony had no tools, no connections, no communication skills, no friends, and no clout and it was fucking terrifying to think he might not find Steve soon. Life was a lot harder here than it looked in Braveheart, he'd realized. Appendicitis and diabetes and a score of other afflictions were death sentences. He'd seen people disfigured by polio and smallpox, and beggars starving to death. Hell, you could step on a rusty nail and die of lockjaw. The idea of being stuck here scared the shit out of him.

 

 

After a couple of weeks of searching he found himself sitting in a shady spot under a willow tree on the bank of a babbling brook. The armor was shoved under a nearby bush, where he had hidden it for his last visit to what passed for civilization here. He bit angrily into the apple he had pinched at that occasion. Tony considered it a small payment for not burning the whole fucking keep down in his frustration. He wasn't getting anywhere. He had to be able to figure out a better system because this wasn't working on so many levels that it was pathetic. Tony understood that regular people were terrified of him, but he had expected a little less running in fear from the knights he'd met.. You'd think they'd be braver than the farmers, but they weren't, really. A bit of posturing and they were gone. He started humming.

 

_Brave Sir Robin ran away._

_Bravely ran away, away._

_When danger reared it's ugly head_

_He bravely turned his tail and fled._

_Yes, brave Sir Robin turned about_

_And gallantly he chickened out._

 

Tony snorted. Such a tragedy nobody would get that reference. Steve would have, Monty Python and the Holy Grail had featured one Avengers' movie night. But Steve wasn't here, that was the whole problem. Tony sighed. Steve also wouldn't have run away from Tony's demon. Actually, Tony best chance might be hoping that Steve would come running to some villagers' rescue once he'd heard about the 'demon', noble idiot that he was.

The apple dropped out of his slack fingers into the water but Tony didn't notice it. He was too busy being astounded by his own stupidity. He'd gone about this the wrong way around the entire fucking time! He couldn't believe he wasted these weeks trying to chase down word from Steve. When all this time he should have been spreading word of himself, packed in an attractively evil package, tied with a irresistible challenge as the pretty bow on top. Sprinkle it all with some references only Steve would get and the fool would come a-riding to Tony's rescue on a white horse with trumpets blaring and banners streaming in the wind.

God, he'd been a fucking idiot. He stood up and dried his feet on the grass, before climbing back into the armor. He had no time to lose. He was going to need a dilapidated castle and some henchmen and he had to think of some appropriate prize to be wrest from the demon, and-

Tony laughed. That one was easy. The Holy Grail! What else?

 ***

 ***

Tony fairly quickly found the abandoned castle he was looking for. It was mostly intact but sat on a part of the coast that was slowly being reclaimed by the sea. The fields around it were too salty to be used and were lying fallow. The hovels around the keep were reduced to sagging, rotting lumber heaps, but the bleak looking castle itself had a few more winter storms to go before it would collapse. He couldn't have asked for a more perfect Evil Lair.

 

The day after he moved into the castle, he picked up his first witch.

 


	3. In Which Lord Anthony Acquires a Castle Full of Witches Without Meaning to

It wasn't like Tony had meant to acquire a witch. No, he was out on an evening stroll, or rather, fly, to be more accurate. Now that he'd moved into Castle Aaargh, he needed people to know he was there. The more people talked about him, the further they spread the gossip, the better for his plans. And it was a lot easier to freak people out on purpose, than to try and not freak people out, really. He swooped low over some villages while having JARVIS blast Metallica's Seek And Destroy over the outer speakers. Judging by the screaming and running, it was doing the job admirably. He felt kind of shitty scaring the crap out of people, though. Watching the young and old and infirm run for their lives brought him no joy. So much for turning super villain in the near future. Maybe he could burn a barn or two, to change things up, when the screaming got on his nerves.

It was turning twilight when he noticed a mob of people in the next village over that was so focused on something, they hadn't noticed him approaching from miles away. Huh. That was different, worth investigating. He flew closer.

He came in from behind the crowd to see what had these people so riled up. They were so busy shouting they didn't even hear the music. A disheveled, crying woman had been tied to a stake with a stack of branches at her feet. She had cuts and bruises in multiple places. Several people in the front of the mob were holding burning torches. Tony's eyes went wide. What the hell... A witch burning? For real? Then he shook his head. Of course, for real. People would be burning witches for centuries to come, on various continents. But not on his watch.

Making it up as he went along, he came to a hover right over the woman's head and turned to face the mob. He smirked behind the face plate as they staggered back a few paces and their expressions changed from rage to confusion to fear. But then they cycled back to rage and surged forward again, shouting gibberish and throwing rocks at him. He raised his arms and fired the repulsors at their feet to push the crowd and their torches away from those dry branches.

"What are they saying, JARVIS?"

"The gist of it, Sir, is that you are her master in evil, and she has been worshiping you. Apparently she has brought ill luck and death to people and livestock in your honor."

"Can't say I feel particularly honored by dead sheep, to be honest."

He took a deep breath. "Okay, JARVIS, translate."

"Very well, Sir."

"STAND BACK, YOU RABBLE."

This caused confusion, but no one sprung into action, that Tony could see.

"LET THIS WOMAN GO, OR THE CONSEQUENCES WILL BE DIRE." He fired a repulsor shot into the air to underline his words. This drew a gasp from the crowd, but if anything they looked more determined. The men with the torches shuffled forward. Another rock or two came sailing Tony's way. He fired a shot that hit the earth in front of the feet of the man in the middle. The man jumped back, but was pushed forward again by the surging crowd. Tony hesitated. Killing people would immediately cement his reputation as a demon, but he wasn't sure what kind of time travel he was experiencing. If this was fixed time line, then anything he did would have happened anyway and he could do whatever he wanted with nothing more to fear than Steve's intense disapproval when they met again, which was enough to hold his fire. Just the idea of explaining to Steve that several dozen people were dead to make it easier for Tony to find him, made him wince. And if he was in a dynamic time line or, god forbid, a multi-verse, then killing a potential ancestor would guarantee he'd never go back home. He'd either wink out of existence (and/or get stuck in a time loop) or come back to a different universe than the one he'd left. Bad choices all. He'd have to aim to be more of a flash bang type of demon. Despite the fact that these people were really pissing him off.

While he'd hesitated, the guy with the torch on the left had darted forward and lit the pyre. Flames started to lick up the branches and the woman started screaming for mercy. The unholy glee on the spectators' faces made Tony's fingers itch. There really was no satisfactory solution to this ugliness. In desperation, he yanked the pole out of the ground and lifted the woman up in his arms. She promptly fainted, as did a few people in the crowd.

"YOU HAVE DISPLEASED ME. I AM CLAIMING THIS WOMAN AS MY SERVANT AND TAKING HER TO CASTLE AAARGH." Tony made a half turn and aimed a repulsor at the heavy oak doors of the village church. Burning a hole through the one on the right, he proclaimed: "LET IT BE KNOWN FAR AND WIDE THAT I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY MORE WITCHES TO BE BURNED AT THE STAKE. DEFY ME AND YOU WILL KNOW MY WRATH." With that, he burned a pentagram into the door on the left and took off for his castle, witch and all.

***

 ***

Tony had gotten back to the castle and out of the armor before the witch came to. The previous occupants had conveniently left behind some of the larger pieces of furniture, such as rope strung beds with straw stuffed mattresses which were decidedly moldy, and giant tables. He'd placed her on one of the latter. He had the suit close by, because he was sure the woman would have questions.

She did.

She was only slightly less afraid of him in human form, at least initially. Her eyes widened as she listened to Tony speak gibberish and then she swiveled with alacrity as JARVIS translated from the empty suit. But she wasn't stupid. As soon as JARVIS had managed to convince her wasn't going to eat her, rape her or sacrifice her to Beelzebub, that she was welcome to stay here instead of being burned to a crisp, she saw the advantages of not being dead.

She cried. Of course, she cried. She'd had been betrayed by her friends and lost her family and the life she thought she was going to have. Tony patted her awkwardly on the back, uncomfortably weathering this storm. He didn't think hugs were in order on such short acquaintance and other people's tears were not something he dealt with well. He suppressed a sigh of relief when she finally hiccuped to a halt and angrily rubbed her eyes. She looked at him with red blotches and tear stains all over her face and Tony was suddenly a bit glad he'd saved her. It wasn't like he'd put this world to rights, or anything close to that, but even little things made big differences to the people involved. The woman slid down from the table. She cleared her throat and curtsied clumsily.

“My name is Elayne, Sir.”

Oh. Right.

“My name is... uhm, Anthony, Lord Stark.” One could hardly claim to be a demon king and be a commoner, after all.

“Begging your pardon, Sir, but you don't look much like a demon, Sir.”

So much for that. “That is because I am not.”

She looked pointedly at the armor. See, Tony knew she wasn't stupid. “That is my armor. It's, uh, possessed. But I am not. And it is not very powerful unless I am in it.”

Instead of translating, JARVIS addressed Tony, his tone so dry Tony could practically see the dust forming around the speakers. “ _Possessed_ , Sir?”

Tony met the empty gaze of the armor with a flat look, refusing to correct himself.

“Very well, Sir. Shall I add some appropriate shrieks to the translation? Perhaps I ought to impersonate you doing the Macarena while inebriated?”

Tony counted to three in his head. “Why don't you just stick with simple translations, JARVIS. We wouldn't want to waste battery power, now would we?”

“Indeed we wouldn't, Sir.”

Tony was sure his AI was sulking extra because he was missing his more extensive powers back home and his data banks. So was Tony, actually.

Elayne did the little shriek that JARVIS had wisely omitted, when he had finally gotten around to translating. She scrambled back a little on the table.

“Don't worry, my master has me under perfect control.” Tony made JARVIS say. He sounded like Tony had kicked his puppy.

“Why does he speak for you? Why do you not know our language? Are you a Viking? You don't look like a Viking. Your color is wrong and you're not so large. Are you-”

Tony interrupted her with the first thing that popped into his head. “I am French.” JARVIS translated that with something that sounded like 'Frankish'. Must be the temporal equivalent. She nodded sagely as if that explained so much. Tony repressed a smile. Franks or French, things hadn't changed much, apparently, and they weren't that much more popular than Vikings. “The armor is Frankish, too.” He added on a whim. She nodded again. She obviously did not recognize what Tony and JARVIS were speaking as anything other than what passed for Frankish. William the Conqueror had not made it over then, yet. Which put his current place in time at before 1066 AD, anyway. Not that that knowledge did him any good, but imprecise numbers gave Tony the creeps and any success in hemming them in felt like a triumph. It was a good thing she didn't know any French, actually, because Tony's knowledge stretched to 'oui', 'non', 'merci' and 'Voulez vous coucher avec moi?' and even those were hundreds of years out of date.

“Are you here to conquer England?”

“Uh, no.” William would be here soon enough, though. “I am here to... test the mettle of the knights of Albion. To challenge them and see if they would fight a demon. See if they are as worthy as the Frankish bards proclaim.” Tony paused.

“Are you really a witch?” He had to ask.

A fresh wave of tears followed. And a tale of how she'd been arguing with her elderly neighbor whose goat kept getting into her vegetable yard and eating the lettuce and how the man had keeled over and died in the middle of a tirade. His wife had accused her of hexing him and that had been that.

She looked exhausted, once the tears dried up so Tony showed her one of the rooms with a bare bed and told her he'd see her in the morning. Fortunately it was still summer and blankets weren't so essential just now.

 

In the morning, Elayne had found a broom somewhere and was busy sweeping out her room. She looked like she was planning to do the entire castle to firmly keep her mind off other stuff, so Tony thought it'd be wise to make himself scarce and do some more recon.

He was back just after noon with another witch.

This one they had been trying to drown. Tony was peeved by these people's compliance with the letter of his law, but not the spirit, so he burned down one of their granaries. The wheat was still in the fields, so he presumed it was empty and they wouldn't starve anytime soon. This particular witch was much older and actually kind of looked like one. But her name was Florrie and she told Tony dirty jokes until he felt his ears burn. And that was with JARVIS cocking up the punchlines on half of them. It wasn't like Tony got embarrassed by dirty jokes, usually, but this woman was tiny, and ancient, and really didn't look like she should be insinuating anything about what men like him and sheep got up to together. She cackled and patted his cheek, calling him Laddie. Her relocation didn't seem to bother her and she barely listened when he tried to explain the situation like he'd spun it for Elayne. There were no tears, praise god, and she wasn't even very scared of the suit. The overgrown rose garden in one of the walled gardens delighted her, though, and after locating some rusty tools in a shed, she set to work in it. Tony watched in wonder as she started pruning dead branches and wayward shoots, marveling at her ability to take her altered circumstances in stride. Then she caught his eye, leered at him and started singing with gusto:

“ _If all them laddies would set down their mugs, I'd quench their thirst with one taste of my jugs._

_If all the young laddies were dogs fully grown, I'd let them know where to bury their bone...”_

Tony fled.

Elayne cheered up considerably with Florrie around though. He managed not to feel too insulted by that.

 

 

 

The next afternoon he was in his armor shoving the massive tables to the wall in what he assumed had been the dining hall, when he heard banging on the gate doors. Making his way to the front he could also hear the sound of metal striking metal, the restless whinnying of horses and men shouting. Sounded like he had company.

Shooting up into the air over his own gates it looked indeed like the local king had showed up with a small army. Tony had expected this, of course. He wouldn't have let a demon move into his back yard either. There were about a dozen men on horses and four or five times as many on foot. They all wore chain mail and had different variations of sharp metal sticks, and a few were holding banners. Whatever order they had arrived in went out the window as soon as they spotted Tony coming over the castle walls. A few horses reared, men were stumbling back away from the panicked beasts and what looked like a twelve year old boy tripped over his pike and managed to take three men down with him. Seizing the opening his appearance had given him, Tony shot a few repulsor blasts over their heads, adding to the chaos. Several footmen in the back made a run for it, despite their king's bellowed order to stand fast. Tony drowned him out by turning up AC/DC's Hell's Bells over the speakers. Then he did loop de loops over their heads, ripped a few lances out of shaking hands and tossed them aside and then he fried some vegetation on their outer perimeter. More people ran, dropping their weapons, including a few of the knights on horseback, but the king still held steady. So Tony plucked up the adolescent boy next to him from his saddle and by the look on the king's face he had guessed right. The boy was likely his son and dear to him. The panicked boy was kicking wildly and Tony had to tighten his grip lest he drop him; the boy promptly lost control over his bladder, but at least he went still. Tony felt like a big, mean bully, but it had to be done.

“YOU PUNY MORTALS CAN NOT STAND AGAINST ME. YOUR WEAPONS WILL NOT HARM ME. BUT I CAN HARM THIS BOY IF I SO CHOOSE.”

“Please! Don't kill him! He's my only son. Whatever you want, I'll grant it!” The king pleaded.

“YOU WILL LEAVE ME AND MINE BE IN THIS CASTLE AS LONG AS I CARE TO OCCUPY IT.”

“Granted!”

“YOUR MEN WILL DELIVER FOOD AND DRINK EVERY WEEK. UNSPOILT. AND DO NOT BE SKIMPY.”

“Of course.”

“SEVERAL MATRESSES. BLANKETS. POTS AND PANS. BOWLS. KNIVES. PENS, INK AND PARCHMENT. HAMMERS, WRENCHES.... AND GARDENING IMPLEMENTS.”

The king nodded solemnly, as if demons were known for their extensive demands for household goods.

“AAAAND......” He added in a high pitch. “A SHRUBBERY.” JARVIS stumbled on the word.

“I beg your pardon?”

“NI” said Tony and flew off to deposit the boy on a hill a few miles away. The king and what was left of the army followed them.

 ***

*** 

In the dining hall that Tony had appropriated as workshop, he perfected his Grail spiel with the help of JARVIS. They managed to create a passable illusion of something ethereal and glowing by messing with the hand repulsors a bit and angling them just so. The lack of appropriate tools was maddening. He always had a few specialized items stashed in the armor that he had used for this project, but unless he planned on kidnapping a blacksmith and his entire forge he was shit out of luck when it came to more tools.

In the evenings he visited nearby keeps to prod the local heroes to come seek him out and the system worked well enough. So far, it was just the rest of the flower of contemporary knighthood and not Steve, though, so he unhorsed them all and sent them back where they came from.

They were reasonably well provided for by the king whose son Tony had spared and some of the nearby villages pitched in just to be safe. It was a little awkward that besides the foodstuff they also started leaving bound and gagged witches on his doorstep, though. Apparently they figured that if they couldn't burn them or drown them, they were Tony's problem. Before he knew it Tony found himself living with no fewer than twelve witches. All but three were women. One man was elderly, and a bit senile. Florrie had taken a shine to him though, so he could stay, if only to be the audience for her jokes. The other two were boys. One had come as part of a set of thirteen year old twins, both of whom had mismatched eyes. The other, Tony suspected, had female parts under his boy clothes, but since he didn't know what the current attitudes towards that were, he kept his mouth shut. His home life was a tad chaotic, to say the least, but at least he was well cared for. Even Tony could admit that Tony was shit at the kind of logistics that kept people fed and kept clothes and castles clean. He also learned to speak the language passably well with so many people around. None of his new friends could do any actual magic, though. Unless the twins were using it to snare rabbits and wading birds out in the estuary. They were scarily good at that.

 ***

*** 

A real witch joined them of her own free will. She showed up at the gates one morning, seated on a pretty horse, with a maid and two guards in tow who glared suspiciously at Tony when he met them in the courtyard.

“I am Morgaine le Fay,” said the ethereal looking woman who was sporting a massive black eye gone green and yellow. The blow she'd been dealt had cut her cheek and eyebrow too, and the angry red scabs completed the picture. Gauntlet, Tony thought, already despising the man who'd punched a woman while armed.

“These are my lady in waiting Nimue and my knights, Accolon and Mordred.”

“You're an actual Fae, or do they just call you that?” Tony asked, because that distinction was important. He was very careful not to show any pity. He could tell she would not take that well and he was familiar with that feeling, so he respected it.

“I would hope that if my father was an Elven king, he would have shown up after this.” She pointed to the bruise.

“One would think,” Tony said, although as far as he knew the Fae could be notorious for being dead beat dads. “What happened?”

“My husband, King Urien, didn't like what I was doing, and he chose to express that displeasure thus.”

“So you left him and came here?”

“I left him and went to my brother Arthur. After all, he'd married me to the man. But his opinion was that I should be a more obedient wife and he was about to send me back. So I chose to leave with what faithful retainers I had left and come here.”

“What made you think this was a good place to come to?”

“Because this is what my husband caught me doing.” She held out her left palm and suddenly a little green flame was dancing above it. Tony sucked in a quick breath. Actual magic! He didn't like magic, it fucked up perfectly good science and that was just wrong, because science was the best and should always win, but this was hardly Loki-level stuff.

“Can you make it bigger?” He asked, curious.

Morgaine looked at him in surprise. It was the first time her face showed anything but sullen anger.

“Do you not need to cross yourself?” She inquired snidely.

Tony gave her a small smirk and raised one eyebrow.

“No. I don't think I do.”

“You really are the demon king then.”

Tony shrugged.

She nodded, obviously not caring all that much and turning her focus back on the dancing flame in her hand.

“You want me to make it bigger?”

“That'd be great. Imagine if you could stand up on the battlements and light up the sky with green fire.” He made and expansive gesture with his arms. Tony could certainly imagine it. It'd be a hell of a beacon for Steve. “Do you think you can?”

“I don't know.” She continued in a softer voice. “Maybe if I practice. Nobody ever asked me to. Everyone who knows has made me swear to keep it a secret and to never do it again.” She looked up at Tony, the defiance back in her face. “I am not so good at keeping promises.”

“Neither am I,” admitted Tony. Pepper could attest to that. And a few other people. “But you're welcome to stay and practice to your heart's content. Let me get Elayne. She'll know which rooms you can use.”

And with that Tony got himself an actual witch.

 ***

 ***

“JARVIS, how much ground have we covered, you reckon?” Tony was pacing in his sad and pathetic excuse for a workshop. They'd been here for weeks and Tony had chased off dozens of knights, but Steve had yet to show. He studied the crude map of Great Britain he'd sketched on the far wall. JARVIS had projected it and Tony had traced it (with charcoal of all things). He looked at all the places they'd marked as done.

“Hard to say, Sir. I have the data of the places we visited, of course, but I can not possible project how far gossip has spread. There are simply not enough data points for me to extrapolate from.” Tony grit his teeth in frustration. How the hell did people live like this? Some days this primitive life felt almost normal, and that scared him shitless, because it somehow felt as if getting used to the place would prevent him from leaving eventually. But most days every little difference felt like a paper cut rubbed with lemon juice and he wondered how many paper cuts it'd take to kill a person.

There was a perfunctory knock on the doors and then Morgaine strode into his sanctuary. Tony turned toward her.

“Lady Morgaine. Are you having trouble with the Eye of Sauron?” She had made exponential progress in the time she'd been in the castle (all while running his household with an iron fist), and had rapidly become proficient at lighting up entire rooms. So they'd moved on to shapes. Tony was particularly proud of the Eye of Sauron he helped her create. He knew for a fact that Steve had seen and liked those movies, because he was a total Tolkien nut. Having that thing on top of a tower would be like a homing beacon.

“No. The Eye is simple,” she said dismissively. “Look at this!”

The next moment there was a ghostly green simulacrum of his armor flying through the room. Tony was taken aback. She'd never been able to move a shape before. As it was, he sometimes had his doubts about the wisdom of encouraging her to get better at magic. With her seething anger that never seemed to abate, it seemed inevitable she'd eventually use her new found powers to go teach her husband and her brother a lesson and it would be epic in its ugliness. But he really wasn't a fan of people having to squash their own potential in order to please others, especially not abusive fucktards like Urien, so as far as he was concerned the man had it coming.

“Well?” she prodded impatiently.

“Impressive,” he admitted. “Creepy and scary. But impressive.”

She gave him a slightly less dour look that meant she was pleased with his assessment. “Good. I will fly him around the battlements tonight then.” She made to leave.

“No!” Tony interjected. “I mean, I need the Eye of Sauron.”

She scowled. “Why is this Sauron so important to you? Who is he?”

“Never mind Sauron, he is just another demon of some sort. Minor one. But I need the Eye because the man I am looking for will recognize it.”

“What man?”

“His name is Steve. Hey, maybe you've seen him on your travels. He is big and blond and very strong.”

She looked at him with derision. “Lord Stark, that describes half the knights I've known. The other half are big and dark and strong. And that name does not sound familiar.”

“Damn it.” He started pacing again, his gaze on the map. “All we've attracted so far are these piddly, pansy knights who faint when I fart in their general direction.”

“Is this man you are looking for that much braver then?”

“Yes. Stupidly so.”

"In that case, have you tried my brother Arthur's court? He may have behaved atrociously towards me, but he has a fine nose for picking the bravest of men, I have to admit. They are generally considered the best in land."

"Your brother is a king? King Arthur?” Tony whirled around to face her. “Tell me he is not the king of Camelot." That had to be a joke.

"You know of him, then."

If you considered 'knowing' to be the equivalent of 'thinking someone was fictional up until 5 seconds ago', then sure. "Not really. Just rumors. Where is Camelot? I think I need to invite this particular group of knights personally."

"Near Caerleon."

Wherever the hell that was. He dragged her to the map, but she wasn't too sure about how it worked and the dimensions of it and Tony got really frustrated trying to make her see it. It didn't help that he had used a modern map and the castle they were currently in was located a couple of miles off the coast of East Anglia, under water, which was kind of hard to explain. Eventually, they figured that Caerleon was most likely located in Wales, all the way across the country. If that was were Steve was, Tony was going to have words with him about wandering off in the completely opposite direction of where Tony had gone.

“I will go visit your brother's court tomorrow.”

“Great. Tell him he is an ass and I will take his throne from him one day.”

“Maybe next time. This visit is for Grail purposes only.”

“Fine. I can go tell him myself soon, anyway.” And with that she swanned out of the room.

 ***

*** 

That night Tony lay awake and wondered why he was the one currently stuck in a castle o' witches and not Sam or Natasha. It couldn't possibly be that Steve hated him more than he liked them, could it? He couldn't have misread their relationship that much. They bickered, of course, and Steve drove him up the wall with his holier-than-thou judgy face and Tony made sure he was extra obnoxious around Steve so as to return the favor. But he'd always felt there was mutual respect or even an unspoken agreement that they were kind of playing a game, rather than expressing real dislike. That Steve was walking away from their altercations with a smile on his face, like Tony was. That they were actually a bit fond of each other. Possibly because Captain America had been his hero, growing up, and Steve, because Tony reminded him of Howard. Maybe.

As he was staring at the flickering of the candle flame on the ceiling beams, it was hard to keep denying that he actually liked the straight laced dweeb. That he liked his dry humor and his unfaltering goodness. And the easy going smiles, that he used to disarm everyone around him, but that were hiding a core of steel, stubborn and unmovable. The muscles and the big blue eyes and the pouty lips didn't hurt either. He missed the motherfucker, to be honest. If there was anyone on the team Tony wanted with him in a castle full of witches in the fucking Middle Ages, it was Steve. Having only a local audience was okay, but ultimately unsatisfying.

 

He told himself to knock it off with the maudlin shit already. Tomorrow he was going to Wales, hopefully to find Steve or at least lure him here. He made a mental note to have JARVIS analyze the suit's power use during the trip. Somehow, it had felt a little... weak the last couple of days. Which was impossible, so he shouldn't worry about it. But gathering data never hurt anyone.

 


	4. In Which Sir Stephen Gets Tangled Up In The Grail Quest, For Which He Is Amply Qualified

Steve and Bors were on their way back with firewood when they heard Percival yelp in pain and Gawaine roar with laughter from the direction of the camp.

"You said the bees wouldn't sting!" came Percival 's voice.

"I never did." Gawaine said, still laughing. "I said God made the bees to provide us with honey, not that they'd happily give it up."

"You could have warned me."

"I could have, but that would not have been half as entertaining."

Steve looked over at Bors plodding along beside him, his arms filled with dead branches. "Does Sir Percival truly not know that bees sting? Is he... a simpleton?" Bors shrugged, hampered by his own load. His default scowl was firmly in place.

"No, he isn't. His father died before he was born. His mother went a little mad from grief and tied him to her apron strings for 18 years. He didn't see hardly anyone but her for all that time, so he just doesn't really know how things work. Or that some people do not mean well and you shouldn't listen to them." He glared in direction of the camp.

"Like Gawaine?"

"He'd never have been made a knight if he hadn't been the king's nephew. Actually, that is not true. King Lot, his father, would have bought him knighthood somewhere anyway."

Steve was familiar with the type. Nice to know they weren't a twentieth century invention. And Gawaine didn't know it yet, but he was about to stop picking on Percival, at least as long as Steve was in earshot. The moment they stepped into the clearing, though, a man entered from the other side. He was dressed in something whitish and shapeless and his gray beard was matted, with a few leaves and twigs stuck into it. His eyes shone with fervor. Tony would have tossed him a twenty dollar bill and muttered something derogatory about Reagan closing all the mental hospitals, while making a quick getaway. Here, the man held his audience captive. Lancelot was looking up from his seat on a fallen log, the two squires halted their attempts at erecting the tents and Gawaine and Percival stared at him, the latter sucking on the heel of his thumb. Steve and Bors came to a stop too. No one called out a greeting.

The man raised his arms and proclaimed dramatically: "Go, adventurous Grail knights, to the Castle of Maidens and there do away with the wicked customs!" Then he turned on his heel and stalked back into the forest. Steve blinked. That had been decidedly weird.

"Finally!" whooped Gawaine. "This quest was getting tedious!"

It had been a week since Tony's visit to Camelot and they'd only been traveling for three days. Steve thought that hardly qualified as tedious, but going by the near continuous complaining during the time they'd been on the road, Gawaine was obviously more demanding in his need for entertainment.

"Come on!" Gawaine urged the squires still struggling with the tents, "Pack it up! Hurry! We need to leave. We have a quest." He swung himself into the saddle.

"Now?" said Steve. "It is almost evening, should we not wait till the morrow?"

"Sir Stephen, we have been called, we cannot dither." His elevated perch on horseback made his looking down his nose even more pronounced. Bors had discarded his wood and the others were also getting back onto their horses, and Steve felt stupid just standing there with his branches, but he really didn't see the point of going to attack some random people just because some crazy old man said so. They had better stuff to do.

Lancelot looked back at him. “Hermits are holy men,” he explained when he saw Steve didn't understand. “They know things that we know not and they always speak truth. We are sworn to heed their words. Great evil befalls those who ignore them. Please do not jeopardize our quest by lingering, Sir Stephen.”

That seemed like an excellent system for manipulating gullible masses, Steve thought. Of which there were plenty in this day and age, too.

"Go ahead," said Steve, dropping his bundle of wood by the campsite, "I am sure you can manage without me. I'll try to catch up with you in the morning." Or not, he thought to himself. If these guys were going to be sent on side trips by random holy men, he was better off on his own. There was a slight risk in not having someone else to watch his back while he slept, but he didn't need all that much sleep, and he'd be faster on his own.

Percival's mouth fell open in shock. Bors frowned at him and Lancelot started to protest, but as Steve had expected, Gawaine cut that short.

"As you wish, Sir Stephen. Let's go, knights!"

Gawaine was happy enough to lose him and the challenge Steve posed to his self appointed leadership. And Steve was happy enough to let the man go and make a nuisance of himself elsewhere.

 

Steve decided against hunting up dinner and busied himself with cooking up some of the dried meat and vegetables into a marginally edible mush, and then set to repair some of his horse's tack. Super strength and leather tack weren't always a good combination and he tended to be hard on his gear, used as he was to Tony's more sturdy designs. For about the seven hundredth time that week he wondered if Tony was here alone or if the whole team had come along. He couldn't be sure, but he got a feeling it was just Tony. He realized he was a needle in a haystack in country as large as this, at least while modern communication devices were non-existent. You could pass the person you were looking for on the opposite side of a hill and not be any the wiser until you met again a month later and you finally realized how closed you'd been. But still, he thought that if it had been the whole team, he'd have met more of them by now.

Tony's tactic of waving a great big flag with 'I am here! Come find me!' on it, and counting on the word to spread and reach Steve, seemed particularly suited to a one man search party that just couldn't cover the entire country by himself. Of course, the 'lookit me!' approach was eminently suited to Tony's personality, so maybe that just had been his default strategy. Whichever it was, it had worked and Steve was going to go on the assumption that it was just Tony. Now he just had to figure out where the man's home base was. Tony hadn't thoughtfully provided him with a map, but given the scarcity of parchment, it wasn't very surprising. Steve would have to go by word of mouth. It wasn't like people wouldn't recall seeing a red and gold flying demon.

Steve wondered how long Tony had been here in the Middle Ages and how he was getting on. The damage Tony could do here was astronomical if the man was unchecked. On the other hand, he wouldn't have the limitless resources he had at home. Still, Steve would be a lot happier if he himself was close by to keep an eye on Tony. To make sure he wasn't doing anything stupidly reckless. Ah, who was he kidding? As long as Tony got him out of here he could overlook a whole lot of stupid recklessness. And he didn't doubt for a second that Tony could get them out. And that the end would justify the means. Somewhat.

God, the itch to see him was unbearable. Steve tried to get a grips on his antsy feelings, but it was no use. He got up and paced, then did some martial arts, trying to find the calm in the eye of the storm. He'd just finished a particularly complicated sequence, when the hermit reappeared. Steve dropped into parade rest and regarded him warily.

"Sir Stephen! Your presence is sorely needed in the Castle of Maidens, where un-Christian acts are about to be performed by the Grail knights. Please make haste!" With that the man slunk back into the shadows.

Okay, this was weird. How did this fellow know his name? And what on earth was going on with this quest? It wasn't a real Grail quest, he didn't need or even _want_ a Grail. The whole thing with Tony's Grail was a hoax, but this bearded fellow sure seemed convinced it was the real thing. Steve sighed. He didn't have _time_ for this.

He tried getting back to his exercises for a good thirty minutes, but questions and doubts kept intruding. And so did the need to _do_ something. The antsiness just wouldn't abate.

Fine. He'd go check out this Castle of Maidens. At least it'd be a distraction. He gathered his things quickly, half wishing he had a squire, like Lancelot and Gawaine did.

***

*** 

By the time he reached the castle, the sun was starting to set and the light had that rosy quality that made the building look like something out of a fairy tale. Birds were singing and the river nearby splashed prettily over the rocks. It came as quite a shock to the system to enter the courtyard and see Gawaine and Lancelot stand over a pile of beheaded corpses in black armor. Gawaine was still in the process of severing the head of one last body. Steve looked around for Percival and Bors and spotted them standing on the other side of the yard with their arms full of black hilted swords. Several ladies and young children were standing on the top of the stairs to the main entrance.

“What on earth is going on here?” Steve couldn't stop himself from letting some of the horror he felt slip into his voice. “Were those men _unarmed_?!”

“They were fleeing,” said Gawaine, obviously irritated with Steve's arrival. “The cowards.” He spat on the ground.

Lancelot explained. “They killed the proper king of this castle and took all these ladies hostage and abused them horribly. The prophecy said they'd be defeated by one man, and fate picked Sir Percival.” He nodded to the knight who was holding the swords who had come closer. “He unarmed them all, it was a good fight. But then they fled like cowards. Fortunately, Gawaine and I were here to catch them.”

"They were unarmed," Steve said angrily. “Killing unarmed men is not heroic. You should have captured them to face a fair trial.”

"They were evil men," Gawaine bit back, "We meted out justice. The task was to vanquish them. Lancelot and I vanquished all of them. The task is done. _We_ did it."

“That isn't justice! You killed them for your own glory and pride. What about these women they victimized, did they not deserve to see justice done?”

“What justice would you see them do?” asked Lancelot. “Would you have these women tear them apart with their own hands and add to the burden they already carry? Is their loss of virtue not enough to bear?”

Steve groaned silently in frustration. There was just no reasoning with these people. Concepts like fairness and compassion were so twisted here that Steve barely recognized them. He was now regretting not immediately heeding the hermit's command. He could have been - _should_ have been- on time to prevent this massacre.

“None of these ladies gave up their virtue willingly!” exclaimed the lady at the center of the group on the stairs. “It was those depraved sinners who forced them. It is not fair of you to judge them for it." Some of the younger women huddled closer together as she spoke, one was crying softly. The slightly older ones looked mostly pissed off.

"That won't matter to their fathers and brothers." Bors mumbled it under his breath, but Steve heard him anyway.

"Surely, their families would be happy to get them back alive?" he objected.

Lancelot shook his head. "If they were commoners, maybe. But a lady's virtue and beauty are her only possessions of value." That was rich, coming from the man who was screwing his best friend's wife, annihilating her virtue in the process. But Lancelot was talking in generalities, not specifics, he supposed. And maybe he was on this Grail quest to better his life.

“They're sullied,” agreed Gawaine. “Nothing to it. They'll need to join a convent to repent.”

"Milady?" Steve asked, turning to the woman who was obviously in charge.

"Those who wish to go home should be given that chance." she said sharply. "But those who would fear their welcome there can either go to a convent if they so wish, or they can stay with me. I should be glad of their companionship while we all recover from these trying times."

"You would harbor these fallen-" started Gawaine. Steve quelled him with a look.

"But you would have a castle full of sin-" the man tried again, his face a mask of righteous indignation. Steve frowned at him harder.

“My mother used to say a woman who is forced is not a sinner as long as she is true in her heart,” said Percival.

“Your mother was obviously as feeble minded as you.” retorted Gawaine angrily.

“And yours seduced her brother when he was but 15 years old, so you need not speak of Sir Percival's mother like that,” snarled Bors.

“Enough!” said Steve and put all of his Captain America authority behind the word.

“Sir Percival, your mother was a wise and compassionate woman. Let's go inside and determine what needs to be done.”

It was full dark now. Food came from the kitchens and over the evening meal they discussed the details of what would happen next. Three of the women chose to stay with the lady, whose name was Eloise and who was the daughter of the murdered king. Steve could tell she was grateful for their company. Shared nightmares were better than lonely ones. He'd learned that the hard way since losing the Howling Commandos. Waking up on a wet Austrian forest floor with someone grumbling and jabbing an elbow in your ribs because your whimpers were keeping them awake was unpleasant. Waking up in cold sweat with your heart hammering in your chest with no one nearby to answer your screams made you feel so hollow that you wanted to die. He hoped Eloise and her companions had the good sense to all sleep in the same room.

Five of the women chose the convent. He knew it was useless to try and convince them that they shouldn't be ashamed and feel obligated to hide away from the world, unless he could convince the rest of the world to see it that way too, but he still felt like he'd failed them. He hoped the nuns had more compassion than these so called knights. He assigned Gawaine and Lancelot to escort this group of women. And after a brief argument it turned out that Gawaine and Lancelot did take orders from Steve after all.

Four of the women wanted to go home. All of them would get to take a sizable share of the seven brothers' ill gotten gains. Maybe it would be enough to convince their families to take them back. Steve could only hope. Lady Eloise would contact their families so they could send an escort.

And Steve was taking Bors and Percival and getting the hell out of here to find Tony. This was done and over and delegated and he could not help but feel that he was running out of time somehow. He needed to find Tony. And more importantly, he _wanted_ to find Tony. Tony was his ticket out, after all.

 ***

 

 ***

Of course things weren't as simple as that. As they were riding out of the gate the next morning they were met by another hermit. Possibly the same one as yesterday, it was hard to tell with the bushy beards obscuring all facial features. He announced that Queen Guinevere had been abducted by Sir Melliagaunce who had long desired her and who had seen his chance during Lancelot's absence. Lancelot immediately turned his horse around and called for his squire to follow. Steve grabbed his arm and asked quietly:

“Isn't it her husband's task to rescue her?”

Lancelot's face went through a handful of emotions: irritation, fear, determination and anger. He finally looked at Steve with anguish in his eyes.

“Maybe. But you don't understand, you've clearly never been in love.”

With that he shook off Steve's hand and kicked his horse in the flank. He was out of sight in minutes, his squire barely able to keep up.

Steve tore his eyes away and saw the hermit was still standing there. The man was looking at Gawaine now, who was decidedly unamused by Lancelot's departure. Then the grubby fellow closed his eyes and raised his arms for dramatic effect. Rolling his eyes, Steve braced himself for another pointless task. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to do it.

“Sir Gawaine, know that you shall never attain the Grail, because you are living the untruest life that I have ever heard knights live,” declared the hermit passionately. “Sir Stephen is a maid and has never sinned the sins of the flesh and he slays no man lightly and therefore he shall achieve what you shall not. You must do penance for your sins.”

What? How the hell could this man possibly know....

Like an unexpected stumble over a loose paving stone, Steve was faced with the fact that these hermits might actually know things other people didn't, like Lancelot had claimed. He blinked in disbelief.

Swell. That was just swell.

And it was also swell that the virginity he didn't particularly want or need made him eligible to find the Grail, except that he didn't _care_ about finding the Grail, unless it was attached to Tony. And that seemed highly unlikely if virginity was a requirement. He really wished all this Grail stuff would just go away.

Gawaine wasn't taking the lecture well. "I need to do no penance," he retorted, "We knights often suffer great woe and pain in the course of our duties. That should suffice. If you wish you can consider my escorting these ladies to the convent as my penance, but I will do no more. And as for finding the Grail, it's really not that special anyway." He turned to Steve. “We need another escort, now that Lancelot has left.”

“I will do it,” offered Bors without being asked. “I will catch up with you as soon as possible, Sir Percival. Just remain with Sir Stephen in the meantime.” Percival nodded gravely. Bors looked at Steve. He said nothing, but Steve knew what he meant. “Keep an eye on him.” He nodded in acknowledgment and then Bors and Gawaine left with their entourage. The hermit had vanished.

***

***

A few days later Steve and Percival found themselves being feted by a local lord, who wanted to know everything about their fight at the Maidens' Castle. After Percival's colorful recounting of their heroic deeds, there was much commiserating from the lady of the house on the atrocities suffered by the victims of the seven brothers. As if not to be outdone in the heinous crimes area, though, the topic eventually shifted to the imagined atrocities committed in the witches' castle two days to the east.

“It's an abomination,” stage-whispered the lord's wife, obviously salivating at the scandal of it all. “All the witches in the area are gathered there, cooking up unspeakable things. They say the whole countryside around the castle has gone salted and barren! And that the local villages have to pay tribute to that nest of vipers.”

Steve made sure to not show any overt interest, in case they were thinking about volunteering him to clean out another castle. It was done, he was done and now he needed to find Tony, before this place drove him crazy. It was strange how he'd been pretty much been resigned to living like this a month ago and it had even stopped feeling like a struggle most of the time. But now that he knew that Tony was here, that there had to be a way out, because even if there wasn't, Tony was a genius and he would _find_ a way out, now it felt almost unbearable. Worse even than in the very beginning. Hope was a double edged sword that way, and now he felt trapped all over again. In the wrong place and the wrong time. So much wronger than his seventy year jump into the future. He felt isolated and alone in a way he hadn't had time for in the twenty first century. First he'd been busy fighting off an alien invasion and when the dust had settled he'd had a team. Maybe even friends. Yeah, he'd been lonely and had felt out of place there, but not like this. Nothing like this.

 

His musings were disrupted by Percival poking him in the side. When he looked up at him, annoyed, Percival pointed at a man currently speaking with great relish.

“I kid you not! The demon is 30 feet tall if he is an inch and he is red like blood with icy fire shooting from his hands and feet. He flies in over unsuspecting, God-fearing villages and burns them to the ground. They say he eats unbaptized babies for breakfast! And he takes all their witches to his Castle of Sin where they worship the devil. You can see the green fires of hell dancing on the battlements at night.”

Hope, the fickle bitch, flared up like fireworks on the fourth of July. The more Steve grilled the man, who was a little taken aback by this sudden interest, the more he was convinced this could only be Iron Man.

Relief rushed through him. He grinned wider than he'd had in six months and slapped Percival on the back. “We are going to confront this demon king, Sir Percival. We ride at dawn!”

 

The next morning the two of them set off for the witches' castle. It was twilight on the second day of travel and they'd just decided to make camp, when Steve spotted a green flicker of light against the darkening sky in the east. It was too far to tell what it was, but a sudden clench in his gut told him this was it. This was where Tony was. He nixed any further discussions of camping and told Percival flat out they were pushing on.

The green flicker resolved into a ring of green fire somewhere on top of a hill, or building of some sort. And then all of a sudden it wasn't just a ring, it was an eye. It was the wrong color, but there was no mistaking it. It was the Eye of Sauron, exactly like in the Lord of the Rings movies he'd watched with the team. Galloping your horse in the dark was a stupid thing to do, Steve knew. It could so easily trip or step in a hole and break a leg and Steve could break his neck, but he couldn't bear going any slower now that he was one hundred percent sure he'd find Tony somewhere near that eerie big green eye. Percival was shouting at him as he fell behind, but Steve didn't stop. Percival would catch up and Steve wouldn't even particularly care if he didn't.

His eyes firmly on the Eye it took him a while to notice it wasn't the only light out there. In front of what must be the witches' castle was a collection of bobbing flames, that he assumed were torches. The torches were outlining a seething mass of people. He could hear them now too, they were shouting and screaming in anger. It was an honest to God mob, pitchforks and all and they were trying to storm the gates.

At least the people in the back were. The ones at the head of the crowd turned out to be hesitating, backing away from something in front of them. Steve craned his neck to see what it was, but he still wasn't close enough. Urging his horse to go even faster, it took him only a few more minutes to reach the back end of the mob. The horse reined in with a squeal, forcing the attention of some of the older men and women at the back of the mob away from the front as they hastily stepped out of the way. Normally Steve would have apologized, but the words died in his mouth as he caught sight of the red and gold outline through the forest of torches, scythes, pitchforks and other sharp farming tools that were in his line of sight. He clambered on top of his horse's saddle to get a better view, cursing the beast for not standing still. He knew it couldn't help being spooked, caught as it was in a frenzied crowd of people, but it was damned inconvenient. And then he forgot to curse too. Because there was Iron Man, prowling like a panther in a cage in front of the crowd. Steve could hear snatches of the infernal music Tony usually played in his workshop over the ruckus of the mob. The blue lighted eyes in the mask scanning the scene in front of him in a way that was so very familiar to Steve. He hadn't even realized how achingly attuned he was to Iron Man's mannerisms until he saw him now, after so long, and he knew, in the depth of his gut, that this was Tony in the armor and no one else. That it couldn't be anyone else. And he was so indescribably happy to see him that he wanted to cry. Instead, he started waving like a maniac to catch Tony's attention.

He could tell the moment that Tony spotted him, because he stopped his prowling and straightened up, surprise evident in the armor's body language. And Steve's heart plummeted. Because Tony didn't fly up to meet him and Steve realized he hadn't been flying at all, while he should have all this time, and that was so utterly unlike Tony, who loved his aerial antics, that something had to be wrong. Very wrong.

The armor's voice boomed over the crowd instead in unadulterated twenty first century American.

“ _Jesus fucking finally, Steve! What the hell took you so long?!_ ”

And then the arc reactor flickered and the armor went dead.

 


	5. In Which Our Heroes are Reunited and There is Much Rejoicing

For a few moments the Iron Man just stood there, all lights extinguished except for the faintly flickering arc reactor. A hush fell over the crowd as they took in this new development. Then, slowly, inevitably, the armor toppled forward and hit the mud with a dull thud. Steve's cry of dismay was lost in the triumphant scream that the people let out in unison as they surged forward to claim their fallen foe. Panic clawed at his innards. He did not just watch Tony die. He did not spend more than a year yearning to be found, only to lose the man who finally came for him. To helplessly watch him die. Tony was not dead, the armor was malfunctioning, that's all it was and Tony was fine. He had to be. He was just trapped inside. Holy mother of God, Tony was trapped in the armor and these angry yokels were trying to tear it to pieces!

Steve jumped off his horse and started to fight his way through the crowd. He suddenly didn't care if he hurt anybody. His sense of urgency was overriding most of his more careful instincts around civilians and there were plenty of painful cries as he shoved people aside. It wasn't that he thought these people could damage the armor and get at Tony, he knew Tony had designed it better than that. But what if Tony had had a seizure or something? Or couldn't breathe? What if JARVIS had to open the armor to get Tony air, what then? What if JARVIS _couldn't_ open the armor to get Tony the air he needed?

He forced himself to slow down when he noticed he that the people he was moving out of the way were flying through the air a good distance before they landed, and weren't popping back up. His progress was agonizingly slow. He was yelling at people to get out of the way, but he was barely making himself heard of the noise of the crowd. From behind him suddenly came the blast of a horn. Repeated two, three times.

Percival!

The mob stopped pushing forward and people started turning towards the sound. Steve took the opportunity to shove his way through them. He heard Percival bellow:

"Stand aside, good people. Make way for the knights of King Arthur!" Reluctantly, the crowd parted. Steve ran towards Tony. Several men were still standing over the armor, shovels and crow bars raised, but their attention now on Percival. Steve barked at them to get out of the way and they reluctantly stepped back, lowering their metal implements. Tony was lying on his front. There was no indication whether he was conscious inside the armor or not. Steve was rolling him over when Percy arrived at his side and dismounted. People immediately started pushing in behind him again, yelling for the demon's head.

"Is he dead?" Percival inquired.

"No. I mean. I don't know. I need to open his armor. I need to make sure he can breathe. I don't now how it opens!" Steve was frantically running his fingers over the armor to see if he could find a latch of some sort.

"Open?" Percival sounded confused. "You can open demons? Do you need to open them before you can kill them?" He turned towards the people right behind him and asked them to stand back. It was no use, because even if they'd wanted to, they were pushed forward by the people behind them. People were going to get trampled soon, if they weren't careful.

"He's not a demon!" Steve had to raise his voice to make Percival hear him. "He is my friend and he- goddamn it!" People were pushing him. He turned and stood wide legged over Tony, his shield between them and the crowd that was busy whipping itself back into a frenzy. Percival put himself shoulder to shoulder with Steve, unquestioningly.

"So we are not killing him? We are defending the demon?" Okay, not quite unquestioningly.

"To my last breath," swore Steve, hitting a screaming woman in the chest with his shield. He looked around him for a way out of this mess, but the castle gate was closed behind them and he couldn't see himself climbing the walls holding Tony. He was strong, but he wasn't the Hulk. He spotted a small figure on top of the battlements and wondered if maybe they could lower a rope. Opening the gates with this mob outside was out of the question, but Steve and Percival wouldn't be able to hold out against them forever either.

Steve heard a soft whoosh behind him and both he and Percival ducked instinctively. A figure made of green flames came flying over their heads and over the crowds. Screams of rage turned into screams of fear as the man of flame swooped low. It was an almost perfect replica of Iron Man, Steve saw, except its flying style wasn't as cocky as Tony's. Steve couldn't pinpoint the difference exactly, really, he just knew the person behind this green fire Iron Man wasn't as full of swagger as Tony usually was. This person was more goal oriented. And if his goal was to scare off the crowd, it was doing an admirable job. The pressure on Steve and Percival had lessened considerably and once the fire creature started shooting flames from its hands like repulsor blasts it wasn't too long before the people turned and fled altogether.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief when only a few stragglers remained and then they were leaving too. He turned to pick Tony up. As he was struggling with the armor's considerable weight, the castle gates opened and a woman stuck out her head and arm and beckoned them closer. Steve looked over at his companion. Percival was having a hard time holding on to the panicked horses, a little wide eyed himself and shaking his head.

"Come on," said Steve, "We have to get inside in case they decide to come back."

"We can't!" said Percival. "They're witches. We can't consort with witches."

"We don't know that they are witches for sure." Steve tried to sound reasonable. "They also said the demon was thirty foot long and he isn't even any bigger than me. And he's not a demon."

Percival's gaze went to the still form in Steve's arms. Then he looked at the woman holding the gate open. She smiled and waved at him.

"Hello! My name is Elaine. I am not a witch. And that is Sir Anthony Stark. He is not a demon, though his armor is possessed. He's French." She nodded for emphasis.

That was news to Steve. But since it seemed to pacify Percival somewhat, he didn't argue. The important thing now was to get Tony out of the open, into the castle and out of the armor. He followed Elaine through the gate.

 

Elaine led them to a large room that Steve immediately recognized as Tony's make do workshop. It was nothing like his workshop in the tower, of course. For one thing, it was lit by torches and there were no robots zooming about, but it had Tony's stamp on it nonetheless. He cleared a space on the giant table that was positioned in the center of the room and laid Tony down. There was still no movement and the light from the arc reactor was weak, though stable. Steve resumed his efforts to open the armor. Elaine was watching him from a small distance, but when he looked at her she just shrugged. No help there, then.

"Tony?" He tried. "JARVIS? Can you hear me?"

He thought he might have seen a little wiggle of the helmet, but he wasn't sure. Percival shuffled through the door behind him, equal parts of confusion and 'we're not really consorting with witches, are we?' on his face. Steve ignored his pleading looks. 'Please don't be dead, please don't be dead' was running on an endless loop through his head. He tried again, more urgently.

“Tony? Are you awake in there? How do I open this?” This time he was sure he'd heard something. Breathing a sigh of relief, he put his ear near the face plate and said “What?”

It was like it came through a tunnel from the other side of a mountain, and Steve could barely decipher it, but it sounded like “Left armpit”. Steve lifted the left arm, but couldn't see a thing. He felt around with his fingertips and finally he found a small irregularity in the smooth metal. Pushing did nothing. Figured that would be too easy. But eventually, when he hooked his finger just so, something popped. And then, like a cascade, pieces of armor started disconnecting and falling off Tony, who took in a great gulping breath of air at the same as the door slammed open. Steve looked up to see a tiny woman with a long dark hair stomp into the room.

“What the hell happened?” managed Tony with a wheeze.

“What happened?" shouted the angry pixie, "What happened is that you should never have let that sniveling twat go when she wanted to go home. When she said it must have a been a mistake. I told you she would stir up trouble. I told you she was going to make up some horror story about us god forsaken witches and the things we get up to. I told you she'd be back with her whole damned village in tow!" She paused for breath while Tony struggled to a seated position, pieces of armor rolling every which way. He didn't seem aware of Steve's presence yet and ended up with his back to him, facing the angry woman. She continued. "And lo and behold, the entire damned village shows up, frothing at the mouth, with pitchforks and shovels and you can't even get into the air anymore to scare them off! How the hell were you planning on stopping them? By annoying them to death like you do me?!"

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Morgaine, please. I know you were worried about me, but I have a massive headache right now."

"I wasn't worried about you. I was worried about all the innocent people in this castle that would have been burned to a crisp after they were done with you. You should never have let that stupid girl go. Just because she shoved her boobs in your face and simpered at you." Morgaine pouted and thrusted her small breasts forward and continued in a high pitched voice. "Oh, Sir Anthony, I am sure it was all a misunderstanding. My village would never think I am a witch, just let me go back to my elderly mother, please." It was an admirable impression and Steve had to bite down on a laugh.

"It wasn't like that!" Tony disagreed. "I wasn't thinking with my cock, lady. I was thinking I didn't have the right to hold her prisoner."

"Not even to save her life? And all of ours? We'd all be dead if I hadn't managed to scare them off with the fire demon. And if that big ox hadn't shown up to prevent you from being hacked to pieces and trampled in the mud, you'd be dead twice over." She pointed over Tony's shoulder to Steve. Tony whipped around. A giant grin broke out on his face when he spotted Steve and Steve helplessly smiled back.

" _Oh my God, Steve! It's really you! You're here!_ "

Tony scrambled across the table and the next moment Steve had his arms full of genius. He gratefully clung to Tony with all that he had. He didn't recall ever hugging the man before, but it felt like home. He held on until Tony started to wheeze a little and then he let go with alacrity and held Tony at arm's length.

" _Are you okay?"_ It was hard to tell. Objectively, Tony looked like shit. He was pale and clammy and had circles under his eyes. But his eyes were sparkling and his smile could have lit up Manhattan.

 _"Yes! No. Maybe. I'm not sure. I'll figure that out later. You can help. Because you're finally here, you asshole! What took you so long?"_ Tony thumped him on the chest, but it was obviously a happy thump.

 _"I could ask you the same thing!"_ Steve tried but fell a little short of indignant. _"I didn't even know you were here, looking for me, Mr Shawarma."_ Tony grinned some more at that and opened his mouth to retort.

"This must be the stupidly brave one," Morgaine cut in.

"I... Yes. It is."

"What are they saying?" Steve heard Percival ask.

"I don't know," answered Elaine. "It is French."

 _"We're speaking French?"_ Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony.

_"Ah. Yes. Obviously. Oui. Voulez vous coucher avec moi?"_

Steve spluttered.

 _"Too soon?"_ asked Tony, his face full of mock concern. _"Your only other options are 'oui', 'non' and 'merci', I am afraid."_

 _"You know 'yes', 'no', 'thanks' and 'do you want to sleep with me' but nothing else?"_ Steve put a mock frown on his face. _"Why, Stark, how horribly stereotypical."_

_"You'd be surprised how far you get with just those four phrases. Actually, make that how far_ I  _get. You would obviously get nowhere."_

_"Good thing I actually speak French fluently then."_

_"Excellent. If I need my laundry done, I'll make sure to have you translate."_

_"You do that. I'd hate for you to have to sleep with the laundry lady to get your washing done."_

_"I dunno. Will she be wearing one of those French Maid outfits? Because in that case..."_ Tony did a convincing impression of a Vargas Girl, seated on the table as he was. Steve was about to mention said laundry lady's mustache when Morgaine cleared her throat. Loudly. Tony wiped the supposedly sexy pout off his face and pasted a contrite look on it before he turned to her.

"I can see you have much catching up to do with your stupidly brave one. We will discuss this further in the morning." She clearly meant more yelling in the morning.

"Yes. Fine. In the morning." Tony said to her retreating back.

 _"That gives us a few hours to catch up!"_ He said turning back to Steve. Sliding off the table, he dislodged a piece of the armor that clattered to the floor. Tony winced.

 _"And I'll have to deal with that in the morning too. Because that's really not looking good, Steve. But I can't work in torch light. And we need to catch up. Make plans to get out of here. Let's pick up some vittles and go to my room."_ The bantering tone was gone and Steve missed it already.

He wrapped an arm around Tony, because it seemed like he needed it, but was surprised when Tony leaned into it a bit. It was unsettling. Any sign of Tony Stark needing comfort was alarming, even when it was barely noticeable. Steve hadn't realized up until that moment how much Tony being unflappable was something he counted on. He looked around the makeshift workshop and tried to see it through Tony's eyes. It fell way short. The man must have felt like he was in prison. Or paralyzed.

Tony shooed Percival and Elaine out of the workshop too and then locked the door behind them. Elaine offered to make up rooms for the new guests and Steve suggested Percival stick with her while he caught up with Tony and they'd see each other in the morning. Percival was still confused, but for once Steve was grateful at how biddable he was.

 

 

Tony's room was sparse, very much unlike the man Steve thought he knew. A large bed, a desk and a couple of wooden stools. Tony plonked the food and drink he'd confiscated on the table. He dropped onto the stool, breathing just a tad too heavily to be justified by the stairs they'd climbed to get here. Tony definitely did not look as healthy as when he'd seen him last in New York.

"Okay, spill," said Tony, tearing the bread into chunks and pouring the wine into goblets. "Where the hell have you been and what have you done with yourself?"

Steve pulled over the remaining stool so he sat catty corner to Tony. Across the table was just too far away. He still felt as if Tony might disappear if he'd let him get out of arm's reach. He was sure that would pass eventually, but right now he didn't see the point in not giving in to it. Tony wasn't complaining. In fact, he scooted a little closer and peered at Steve's face intently.

"You look fine. Your hair is long." So was Tony's. And his Van Dyke's was longer too. "But you haven't lost any muscles, praise be." He continued. "Care to lose the chain mail and get comfortable? I have lots of questions, dude."

Steve shrugged out of the mail and tossed it onto a corner of the bed. He took off the gambeson too, because it always smelled like something died in it. It felt nice to be in just his shirtsleeves but he was acutely aware of the scent of sweat emanating from the crumpled blue garment. Not much time for laundry in the last few days.

"So do I," he countered and then they were off.

 

Steve told his story. He was amazed to learn that while he had been here over a year, he'd only been gone couple of months in the 21st century. Then Tony told his story as if it was the biggest joke ever and Steve couldn't help laughing throughout the recounting, even though it was horrendously obvious that Tony had been lost and lonely and frustrated, just like Steve. Tony's fingernails were cutting grooves in the soft wood of the table while he talked and Steve wanted to cover his hands with his own and make him look at him. To let him know that he knew that they were joking because it was easier, but that he also knew it had been fucking hard for the both of them and that he was just so pathetically grateful Tony had come for him.

Before he'd come to the end of his story, Tony started complaining about the lack of basic upholstery in this fucking era and what it did to his poor backside. They relocated to the bed, sitting side by side with their backs against the wall and finished off what was left of the bottle of wine. Tony waxed poetic about overstuffed recliners and hot showers and indoor plumbing and Steve noticed his eyes were suspiciously moist when he talked about coffee. Then they talked about motorcycles and airplanes and newspapers and phones and baseball (Steve) and electricity (Tony) and cinnamon buns and curry.

“And.. Oh man.... Cheeseburgers and fries,” moaned Tony.

“God, yes!” Steve's mouth started watering. “Not those horrible fast food ones, but an honest to god, inch thick, medium rare hamburger on a fresh sesame bun with an ice cold Coca Cola.”

“Yeah, with the condensation running down the outside of the can.”

“Bottle,” interjected Steve. “Can't beat glass bottles.”

“Fine. Bottles. Have it your way.”

They were both silent for a moment while they contemplated their losses.

 

As the evening bled into night and Tony was gesticulating wildly beside him, jarring his shoulder, and ranting about something else that these Medieval dingbats needed to invent, like, yesterday, it occurred to Steve that he and Tony had never talked like this before. Never this long, for sure, but the quality was different too. They'd always been too busy snipping back and forth and finding the faults in each other's words so they could jump on them, to ever focus on their common ground. Now, stuck together in this alien world, they had nothing but common ground. And it wasn't like he hadn't enjoyed their previous pissing contests, because, honestly, as irritating as they had been, they'd also been kind of fun. But this was so much more. Steve knew he had been smiling like a lunatic all night, but he just couldn't stop. He looked aside at Tony, who stopped mid-rant.

"Okay, stop it, Cap. You're freaking me out. You need to start doing that 'you disappoint me, Stark' frown now, or I'll be thinking I found bizarro Steve." But Tony was smiling just as hard as Steve as he said it, so Steve just answered:

"Give me twenty four hours to be happy, ok? I'm sure I can dredge up some righteous indignation at your antics in due time. Maybe you can explain to me again how you value coffee over life itself, that should get old after a day or so."

That earned him a jab with an elbow and Steve retaliated by pulling him closer so he couldn't employ said elbow anymore. Then Tony just settled against his shoulder and started a sleepy diatribe about Steve's lack of taste and skewed priorities and his own dreadful misfortune of being stuck with a yokel like Steve in a country full of yokels in the Yokel Ages and Steve just laughed.

When Tony drifted off to sleep on Steve's shoulder, he let him be. Tony obviously needed sleep, as pale as he'd looked earlier, and Steve wasn't about to let him go yet. When Tony's breath had become slow and regular, indicating deep sleep, Steve turned his head and buried his nose in Tony's hair. It smelled a little salty, probably because of the sea winds around this place, and a little of chamomile. It needed a bit more eau de engine grease to make it perfect, really. But it was perfectly soft and Steve barely stopped himself before he gave in to the urge to press a kiss into Tony's hair. That would be... inappropriate.

Maybe the wine had managed to buzz him after all. Because all of a sudden he couldn't stop his mind from slipping into a little fantasy in which Tony would wake up and tilt his face up towards Steve in a silent invitation. And Steve imagined accepting that invitation and brushing his lips over Tony's. Tony would be warm and pliable from sleep and his lips would be soft and Steve would slip his tongue into Tony's mouth and Tony would cling to him, like he'd done earlier that evening. And then Steve imagined his hand slipping under Tony's tunic and feeling the naked skin against his fingers while Tony kissed him and he had to forcefully make himself stop thinking about it, because what the hell? It was more than inappropriate. It was ridiculous. Especially since Tony would never kiss him like that.

He made himself go through tactical exercises in head, while he stubbornly kept his gaze on the candle on the table. He was annoyed with himself at how often his mind wandered to the man sleeping on his shoulder even when he wasn't looking at him and as he got more sleepy he had wrench himself away from the that kissing fantasy a couple of times. But he didn't push Tony off.

 

 

Steve woke up in the morning and noticed he had slipped sideways down the wall onto the bed. He wondered briefly if Tony had slipped down with him and had slept draped over his side and he'd missed it. He'd never know, because Tony was gone now and it wasn't like he'd ever ask him. He blinked in the bright morning light and scrambled out of the bed. Things looking different in the morning wasn't a good thing in this case. There were so many problems they hadn't addressed yet. He decided to leave his chain mail in the heap were it was, knowing he'd pay for that later. There was no such thing as rust free steel here and mail needed a ridiculous amount of care. But he needed to find Tony first. Apparently the need to have the man within sight at all times hadn't worn off yet after ten hours or so. That, and they needed to start planning. Fair enough. He knew exactly where Tony would be anyway.

 

The reassembled Iron Man armor was laid out on the table and Tony was standing next to it. Sunlight slanted in through the window and made dust particles dance around the two of them. The expression on Tony's face made the scene eerily reminiscent of a wake, the only thing missing being the coffin. After a moment, Steve realized that a wake was exactly what it was. He made his way over silently and stood in parade rest shoulder to shoulder with Tony. The silence stretched for a while.

“He is dead, Cap. Won't be able to get him up and running again as long as we're here.”

“The arc reactor?”

“Is somehow losing power. J and I couldn't figure out how or why. Must be a side effect of the magic transporting us here.”

Steve stopped himself from looking at Tony. Some conversations were best held facing forward. But Tony's paleness and poor cardiovascular condition suddenly made sense.

“Your condition?”

Tony sighed. “Not as bad as palladium poisoning. Not as good as a month ago. I think my heart will be safe for a few weeks still.”

Weeks. A little tendril of fear wormed its way into Steve's gut.

“JARVIS?”

“Was confined to the suit. No suit, no JARVIS.” Tony swallowed hard and Steve let go of his respectful stance and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He thought he was reading the situation correctly, but it still surprised him when Tony didn't pull away instantly.

“When was the last time you were without JARVIS?”

“Afghanistan.”

Oh. Way to put your foot in it, Steve. Compound the grief with trauma, why don't you? He scrambled for something to say.

“You came out of that ten times the man you were going in.” Lame. But true, as far as Steve knew.

Tony snorted derisively, but there was no power behind it.

“Fucking painful process, though.”

Steve pulled him a little closer and Tony let him. Steve resisted the urge to kiss his temple. God, this had to stop. And soon.

“This time we're in it together, Tony. With my brawn and your brain, it's going to be a piece of cake.”

“The brain is all I got right now, Cap. No weapons, no armor, no data. I don't even have any tools.”

“You don't need them, Iron Man. You still have everything that is important.”

“Not Iron Man without the suit.” Tony sounded more resigned than sulky.

“Being Iron Man was never about the suit, Tony. Iron Man has always been the man within.”

He felt Tony's skeptical look more than he could see it, so he barreled on. “Yeah, yeah, I know that's not what I said when we first met. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I am a cranky old codger if you wake me up from a 70 year long nap, okay.” Not wanting to hear Tony's response, he let him go and nodded at the corpse like armor. “Do you need another moment, or can we start planning how to get you home before the arc reactor gives out completely?”

“Oh please,” scoffed Tony, “It's not like I don't have another forty odd suits at home and a fully functional AI.” He paused and glared at Steve. “And we are going to bring _us_ home, not just me. In fact, Loki specifically mentioned you were my ticket back, so don't even think about nobly sacrificing yourself to send me home.”

“Fine,” said Steve. “I'll sacrifice myself in un-noble ways only. Now let's use this brain of yours to get this show on the road.”

 


	6. In Which Sir Percival Proves Less Useless Than He Looks and Sir Anthony Abuses Church Property

Despite Tony's protests that he wasn't hungry, Steve forced him to come to breakfast with him. They found a pot of hot barley gruel in the kitchen that someone had prepared and Steve dished out two bowls and handed Tony one. Tony made a face and snagged the jar of honey on his way to the table. The only way to make this palatable was to create a gruel to honey ration of approximately 4:3, he knew from experiential evidence. Yesterday's talk of cinnamon buns might skew today's ratio more towards 1:1, though. He'd taste test at 8:7 and decide from there.

In the middle of the honey dispensing process he noticed Steve had stopped shoveling gruel into his mouth. Because Steve was now staring at him with something very close to disbelief in his eyes.

"What?" said Tony.

Steve just ramped up the look.

"I'll have you know that I'm never eating gruel again once we get out of here, honey or no honey."

"Uhuh. I have hard time picturing you even eating any oatmeal at any point in your life, to be honest. I imagine you being weaned on caviar and champagne."

"Close enough." Tony admitted. "And here you're eating this like it's the breakfast of champions. Not even any honey?" He almost gagged at the idea. "How is that even possible?"

"Gruel was a Depression staple." Steve shrugged. "That was corn mush, mostly. This tastes better, less bland, bit of a nutty flavor." He resumed shoveling.

Tony looked at him. He couldn't put his finger on what was odd about this conversation, exactly, but it did feel unusual. Maybe it was the casual way Steve had shared something from his pre-ice days without it being used in an argument. Maybe it was his own realization that Steve was much more adaptable to this time than Tony would ever be and Tony didn't even feel any resentment or irritation. Just accepted it as the natural state of things. Maybe it was the general lack of snarkiness in the exchange. As if they were conversing like friends.

Sure, they'd talked like BFFs last night, but this was the cold light of morning and their whole situation was fucked up and they had as yet no idea how to get themselves out. But apparently they were friends now. Tony allowed himself a rare moment of introspection to figure out how he felt about Steve.

Huh. Whaddayaknow? Definitely friends.

He started stirring the honey into the gruel with a small smile.

"So," he started. As much to delay that inevitable first bite as from desire to start that discussion. "Now that my Snow White theory has been disproved, getting out of here is going to prove more complicated than I'd hoped."

"What was your Snow White theory?"

"You know. I find you, I kiss you, you hack up a piece of apple and everything returns to normal. Or vice versa. Anyway, the theory that us meeting would be enough to send us back."

Tony tried to catch Steve's eye, but the man was suddenly staring at his gruel as if he had found Jesus in it. Then he aggressively started eating again. Three bites later he looked back at Tony, face so perfectly bland Tony knew instinctively he was hiding something. He couldn't imagine what, though.

"No. That didn't work. Unless you think the actual kissing was a requirement?" Captain America's tactical briefing voice, no less. Must be hiding something embarrassing.

"What? No, the kissing was metaphorical." He paused. "Although, this is magic we are talking about, and Loki... so who the fuck knows. This is why I hate magic, you know. I can outscience the best of them, but magic just fucks with the fabric of the universe." He shook his head. "No. I can't imagine... Did you know that in the original fairy tale the prince raped Snow White... Or was it Sleeping Beauty? Anyway, he fucked her while she was sleeping and she woke up when she gave birth nine months later. To twins, I believe. Since neither of us can get pregnant -God, that is a scary thought- I think we can rule out the kissing."

"Good." Steve's nod was more of a jerk of the chin and now Tony really wondered what had crawled up the man's ass.

"So anyway. My next guess would be that we need to find the thing that can take us back. I considered a portal, but since that is not how I got here, I don't think it'd be the way out. The law of simplicity says it'd be that blue sphere that Loki used."

"Tell me again how that went."

Tony described the event with a bit more detail than he had used for the abbreviated version the night before. He left out the deep emotional connection that Loki had mentioned, though. It sounded stupid, for one, here in a mundane medieval kitchen, with the object of said connection being all professional and shit, while sitting at a roughhewn table eating gruel. He would like to ask Steve about it, about this apparent connection, but he couldn't imagine the man responding with anything other than denial and disbelief. And then Tony would be forced to explain what Loki had claimed and he would sound... like he wanted to be special to Steve.

And it wasn't like he didn't want to, because honestly, he kind of did, right now, but he sure as hell didn't want Steve to think that he did. Because, really, all this friendliness and the sharing and, oh, let's not forget the waking up this morning draped all over a Steve who actually smiled in his sleep, all this had to be just a byproduct of being the only two sane people in a world full of crazy, right? But maybe, Tony thought, maybe they could use this experience to move beyond their endless bitch fests when they got back and build something more solid. Tony would like that. A lot.

Also, in retrospect, Tony wasn't so sure Loki hadn't just been fucking with him at the time. It was just as likely Loki had picked him specifically because he knew how lost he would be and Loki found that amusing.

 

He'd just started to describe the glowy blue sphere when the door to the courtyard swung open and the twins came in with a bowl of freshly picked blackberries. Tony felt like cheering. Actual food! He snagged almost half the berries while the twins served themselves gruel and bickered over who had kitchen clean up duty today. Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony and Tony put a handful of the berries back. He manfully refrained from sticking his tongue out at Steve. The door opened again and in came Percival with two large buckets brimming with water, followed by Florrie who gave him a cackling smack on his ass for his trouble. Tony was impressed. The well at this castle was brackish, the sea being as close as it was, and the nearest fresh water was a good mile away. Iron Man had been on water duty mostly, but Iron Man was- Yeah, water was going to be a problem soon.

Florrie dished Percival out some gruel while the tall knight carefully emptied the buckets in the fresh water barrel and then they both joined them at the table.

"So, what did it look like?" Steve had switched back to Old English or whatever they were speaking. Such a well mannered and considerate boy.

Tony did his best to describe the glowing sphere, indicating its size and glow radius and the slightly pulsating quality of the light. He had to use some hand gestures to fill in some of the gaps in his vocabulary. "I have no idea where to even start looking for something like that," he concluded.

Steve shook his head too. "It doesn't sound familiar at all." Well, it would have been too good to be true if Steve would have known somebody who kept a spare one.

"It sounds like the Grail, to be honest," said Percival and both Steve and Tony swung to look at him.

"It does," insisted Percival. "Not that false Grail Sir Anthony showed us at King Arthur's court, but the real one. And I don't understand why Sir Anthony pretended to be demon with a false Grail at all."

"I have an unfortunate sense of humor," said Tony dismissively, "Sir Stephen can bear witness to that, if you want. But I thought the Grail was a cup."

"So they say, but truthfully, it shines so bright that you can't make out the shape very well. But it is about as big as you mentioned and it does pulse like you said."

Tony almost leaned back, until he remembered the bench he sat on had nothing to lean back against. He settled for leaning his arms on the table instead. He looked at Steve.

" _He said they've already got one_ ," he said with an exaggerated British accent. 

" _Oh yes_ ," Steve countered with an exaggerated French accent, " _It's very nice_." 

Tony smiled at him and Steve smiled in return. God, it was good to have him back. First things first, though. He turned to Percival 

"I thought you guys were looking for the Grail. But this sounds like you've already seen it."

"I have," said Percival. "I am looking for it again, because my cousin said I failed to ask the right question when I first saw it and it banished me from its presence." He looked embarrassed.

"Excellent!" Exclaimed Tony slamming his hand on the table. Percival looked hurt. "I mean not excellent that that happened, but excellent that you know where to find it." He turned to Steve. "Worth investigating, right? It's the best lead- It's the only lead we have so far."

Steve nodded happily. "Where is it?" He asked Percival, who immediately looked even more embarrassed than before.

"I don't know," he murmured.

Tony couldn't believe it. "You don't know? How can you not know? Were you, like, blindfolded? Were the curtains of your litter drawn? Were you too busy admiring--"

"Tony." Steve's tone was soft, but brooked no argument. Tony rolled his eyes but did shut up, while Steve gently started prodding Percival to figure out what he did know. Which turned to be not all that useless after all.

"So it's in a castle on an island in the Western sea, a bit to the north of here," concluded Steve.

"I have map in the work shop," said Tony and he hopped up from the bench. "Come on, let's go!" He had a little trouble dragging both men away from their breakfast. Percival spluttered a little and Tony just didn't understand how he could even think about food at a time like this, but Steve looked at him again and so he didn't mention that.

 ***

 ***

"Alright," said Tony, studying the map on his wall. "I think we can rule out Ireland, that's too big to qualify as an island like Percival described it. So it would either be the Isle of Man, or one of the Scottish islands. And I think even Percival would have noticed if he'd wandered into Scotland." He side eyed the man, but Percival gave no sign of even knowing what Tony was talking about. He suppressed a small sigh. "The Isle of Man is closest anyway, even if it is all the way on the other side of the freaking country, so how about we start there and if it's a dud we work our way north?"

"Sounds like a sound strategy, Iron Man." Steve said with a smile, and it was a little weird because Tony was fairly sure Steve had smiled more at him in the last 12 hours than in all the time he had known him. Combined. And he had to stamp on a fledgling preen that threatened to rear its head. Because that felt a little like the approval seeking behavior and Tony Stark had not sought anyone's approval since his teens. Especially not from anyone of his father's generation, which Steve technically was. The idea alone was ridiculous.

Yet, it felt kind of nice to have Steve's. Since they were friends now and all. The only friend Tony would have for the next millennium or so, so it would probably be prudent to try to not fuck it up, actually.

"Well, Sir Stephen is guaranteed to find it, so I am sure God will not lead him astray no matter which way we go." Percival's voice interrupted Tony's thoughts.

Steve blushed. Blushed!

And said: I don't think-" While Tony blurted over him:

"He what?!"

"Yes," nodded Percival happily. "Remember? The hermit said that Sir Stephen would find the Grail because he was a maid and did not kill people needlessly."

Tony tried to untangle his brain from where it had tripped and hopelessly entangled itself in the concept of Steve being an actual virgin, what with the shoulders and the stormy blue eyes and the muscles and the muscles and the other muscles and the plump bottom lip and oh, the things Tony could do to that bottom lip, and really, that way lay madness and he forced himself to parse the rest of that statement.

"What do you mean a hermit said?" he finally managed, hoping none of that had shown on his face.

"It's weird," said Steve and hey, there was that blank look from earlier at breakfast again. It was like they were trying to outblank each other right now. Tony wondered what that actually meant about the contents of Steve's thoughts. Probably just junior high school type embarrassment about his lack of experience, more was the pity. "We've met several hermits already on the way here and they seem to know things they can't possibly know, like your name, and- " Steve swiftly changed tracks. "Lancelot said they're considered the mouthpieces of God and one always had to do as they bid." He shrugged like he had a hard time buying it, but wasn't convinced it wasn't true either.

Tony decided that arguing that particular point would be pointless and as long as they were going to do what they had decided to do anyway, it didn't matter. So he nodded.

"Well. In that case, if I just follow you we should both get there."

 ***

 ***

Tony and Steve had a brief argument in Florrie's rose garden about whether they should let Percival come with them or not. Tony actually didn't see the point of dragging the man along, now that they knew where they were going. It'd be tricky and tiring to have to keep up the pretense of being anything other than Medieval dudes for Percival's benefit, so why not ditch him? Steve flat out refused saying he had promised a guy named Bors to keep an eye on him. And he wanted an extra sword to guard Tony's back now that he didn't have the suit.

He shouldn't have mentioned the suit. Tony was just working himself up into a fine lather and Steve was looking more obstinate by the second, when Morgaine swanned into the garden with Accolon and Mordred in tow. Immediately, Steve and Tony acquired pleasant expressions and turned to stand shoulder to shoulder facing Morgaine.

"So. I hear from Sir Percival that you're leaving us to seek the Grail." She obviously wasn't pleased.

"I- Yeah." It wasn't like Tony could spin this any way that meant he wasn't actually leaving, tempting as it was to fill a few minutes with bullshit to give her the runaround.

"And what is supposed to become of us?"

That was a bit of a sore point. Tony felt responsible for his witches, he did, even though he hadn't asked for them, but he really felt much more responsible for Steve. It didn't even compare.

"Well. I imagine you'll be left alone for a while once the rumor has spread that the demon king has died, but the castle is now haunted by his ghost. I think you'll be fine without me, honestly, you're plenty scary all by yourself."

"Are you not sworn to protect the innocent? What kind of a knight are you? Your pathetic failure to live up your chivalric oaths on a daily basis does not--"

"Whoa, there!" Tony interrupted indignantly. "First of all, I never claimed to be a knight and secondly-"

"He has sworn an oath to help me on my quest." Steve's hand was suddenly a firm presence on Tony's lower back. The man had been handsy ever since they'd been reunited, and maybe Tony should say something about that, but he really couldn't find any urgent need in himself to do so. Of course, he'd woken up on top of the man this morning, but that had been an accident and it didn't mean anything. He leaned into the touch, grateful for the back up and felt Steve flex his fingers in acknowledgment.

Tony nodded earnestly at Morgaine. She looked back at them, thoughtful. She looked at Tony, then Steve, then back at Tony. Then she said: "Fine. I see how it is." And Tony wondered what exactly it was that she saw, but he was relieved enough at her dropping the argument that he did not dare ask the question and risk starting it back up. Whatever she thought she understood was fine with Tony.

"I will bring all the others with me when I go and take my brother's throne. I am sure I can find a them a position in my army." And with that she turned on her heel and walked off, followed by Accolon. Mordred lingered a moment and smirked at Tony. Then he whispered: "Not so strong without your armor, are you? Better stick close to your friend now." Then he turned and made haste to catch up with Morgaine.

"What on earth did you do to him?" asked Steve when they were gone.

"Fuck if I know. I mostly ignored him."

"That'll do it," said Steve. When Tony looked at him questioningly, Steve raised an eyebrow as if Tony should know what he was talking about and that was ridiculous because nobody ever ignored Tony, not if he could help it any way. Not since his father--

Right.

Never mind.

"On second thought," he manfully changed the topic, "Let's not leave Percy here in Morgaine's clutches. That woman scares me."

"I don't blame you," said Steve, his hand still in place.

"I am afraid your King Arthur is in for a rough time."

"That's unfortunate. He is a decent king, especially compared to some of the others."

"Well. He did tell Morgaine to go home and be a good little wifey after her husband punched her in the face with his gauntlet on."

Steve's face went grim and then he produced a tight little smile.

"On the other hand," he said blandly, "Just because a watery tart threw a sword at him..."

"That's no basis for a system of government!" crowed Tony, bumping his shoulder into Steve with enough force to make him stumble. "O my God, Steve, you have no idea what a tragedy it has been that absolutely no one has been getting my Monty Python references! It was, like, worse than the lack of coffee. Almost! Man, I could kiss you right now!"

Steve flushed, but he was laughing too.

“Actually, that quote is 'You can't expect to wield extreme executive power just because some watery tart threw a sword at you'. The quote you're thinking of is 'Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords, that's no basis for a system of government.' You mixed them up,” he said.

Tony's mouth fell open. Then he blinked at Steve.

“Are you fucking schooling me on Monty Python quotes? For real? Captain America is out-nerding me now?” He threw his hands in the air and grinned. “Oh my God, wait till I tell Bruce!”

Steve 's smile was a little apologetic. “Eidetic memory. Can't help it.”

“Don't apologize, dude! We're having a moment, you and me. Don't ruin it with explanations. I want to bask in your brilliance for as long as possible.”

“Tony, be serious,” Steve admonished, a little feebly.

“No, Steve, I mean it. Don't talk. This is a special moment between us and we need to savor it.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but Tony could tell he was trying not to laugh and Tony realized he'd inadvertently spoken the truth. This was a special moment and Tony felt happy and hopeful that maybe this could be more than just two guys trying to get along because they were stuck with each other.

 ***

 ***

It took them a few hours to get Tony packed up to go. The Iron Man suit would sadly have to travel in a burlap sack, which was wrong and undignified, but it couldn't be helped. They needed an extra pack horse just for that, because it really was heavy. Steve inquired politely if Tony had actually ever ridden a horse before, when he had a little trouble getting the pack horse to stand still to accept its burden.

Tony threw him a derisive look, before jumping onto his own horse. Which one could only do when not unduly burdened by chain mail, like Steve and Percival.

" _Oh please, honey. I'll have you know I own a stable full of polo ponies, like all the insufferable rich douchebags. In fact, I was voted 'best player while inebriated' for 5 years running._ "

" _Of course you were,_ " sighed Steve. He gestured to Percy. "Let's go." And with that he led the way for Tony, Percival and the pack horse to follow. Tony waved at those of his witches who had come to say goodbye and Percival waved at Elaine, who beamed back and then they were off.

 

Right outside the gate they ran into a hermit. As if he'd been waiting for them, which he must have been because there was no place where he could otherwise have been headed to for miles around. Steve reined in his horse and bowed his head respectfully. Tony rolled his eyes. The silver disk of the sun that was trying to shine through the thin clouds was almost at its zenith and he was antsy to get on with things. The hermit raised his arms. Drama queen, obviously.

"Sir Stephen!" intoned the scruffy man, "Your task is to rid the church of Scunthorpe of its vile hauntings. Sir Percival, it will be your duty to follow him, because he is good and pure and your assistance will be well rewarded." Then he frowned and glared at Tony. Tony gave him his best PR smile in return. It had never failed to piss off earnest people before and this self proclaimed oracle was no exception.

"Sir Anthony, the Grail is not for you. You have sinned in every way imaginable and your presence sullies that of your companions."

"I am pretty sure I have sinned in ways you can not imagine, pal." Tony muttered and he was pleased to see Steve bite down on a smile. Meanwhile, Percival was gracefully thanking the hermit for his advice and asking for directions to Scunthorpe. Apparently, one did not simply walk directly to the Grail. Not without detours, anyway. Tony hoped fervently there weren't going to be that many of them, though. He was hiding it well, he thought, but the way the arc reactor was losing power was a constant source of worry and he really didn't have a year to spend on gallivanting around this backwards theme park.

 ***

 ***

Scunthorpe-the-Medieval-village looked exactly like what Tony had guessed a Medieval village called Scunthorpe would look like, except maybe even more muddy and depressing. It had been raining steadily for the past few hours and when they arrived around dusk the sagging houses were shut tight against the weather and the streets could easily be mistaken for shallow rivers. Tony's cloak had turned out to be only moderately waterproof and he was cold, wet, tired, hungry and absolutely miserable. His mood was equally dismal. He hated this place, he hated this time and he hated the fact that he was stopping himself from bitching about it at length, like he had every right to, because of some vague Steve-related concerns. Apparently now that they had leveled up in friendship Tony had a new found need to not disappoint him. It was really inconvenient, but there you had it. To be honest, that feeling had been there for longer than he cared to admit, but where it had been previously limited to battle situations, now he also seemed to care what Steve thought of him outside of those. He couldn't wait to shake off those kinds of irrational thoughts. And just as soon as that stopped feeling like he was kicking puppies, he would.

Not a soul was outside this evening, but it wasn't like they'd need directions. There was only one church and it was clearly visible on a little knoll at the edge of the village. As they drew closer, the air seemed to grow thicker and the stillness of the place took on a eerie quality. Besides the relentless rain hammering on the waxed hood of his cloak and the squelching hoof beats of their horses, there was no sound to be heard, and even those sounds seemed muffled as they neared the church. There was a flickering light visible through the windows, so the sanctuary lamp must still be burning, but apart from that, shadow predominated in this twilight. All in all, the place gave Tony the creeps.

Steve was the first to alight from his horse and Percival was close behind. Tony sighed and followed much slower. He wondered if Steve's super hearing could hear Tony's bones creak, because it sure felt like he should be able to. Fabulous polo player that he was, it had been at least a decade since he had spent more than a few hours on a horse and apparently he wasn't twenty anymore. They tied the horses to the gate and Steve and Percival got their weapons ready. The last thing Tony wanted to do was to go in there and find out what made this place so unnerving.

Actually, the very last thing Tony wanted to do--

 _"Tony, you will stay here, so you're out of harm's way."_ Steve broke the silence.

-was stay out here by himself in this creepy village while getting progressively more wet.

 _"Yeah, no. Fuck that."_ Tony strode to the church doors and yanked on one. _"If I get any wetter and colder I will catch pneumonia and not even your super sized prowess can replace antibiotics. I will be waiting inside while you do your thang, thank you."_ He instantly regretted his words as the door swung open. The inside of the church was colder than the grave, which was appropriate, he supposed, and it reeked of dead people. Again. Appropriate. The sense of menace in the air also increased a thousand fold. He swiftly turned his involuntary step back into a sweeping bow, while holding the door open for Steve and Percival. Steve had had his mouth open to argue, but he closed it abruptly when faced with the open door. A grim look settled on his face and he nodded to Percival as he strode inside. Percival looked pale in the dying light and his stride was decidedly less purposeful, but he followed all the same. Tony slid inside last.

As he let go of the door it closed with a thud that he refused to think of as a tomb closing. Now that the sound of the rain was shut out, he could hear other sounds. There were whispers in the air and a scuffle could be heard from somewhere. Despite the sanctuary lamp the place was decidedly gloomy and it took his eyes a while to adjust. He had to give it to the person who came in here every few days to refill that lamp, though, Tony wasn't sure he'd have had the guts.

Steve and Percival were circling the place, back to back, swords drawn, their gazes sweeping the place for the source of the sounds. Tony inched further inside, his back to the wall. He was about a third of the way to the altar when he felt, rather than heard, something launching itself at him from inside the wall. He screamed and flung himself away from where he had been standing. Steve and Percival were by his side in seconds and all three of them stared at the part of the wall where Tony had been. From behind the inscribed stone that closed off a wall crypt came a moan and snarl and then something that sounded a hell of a lot like someone trying to claw his way out of the crypt. Tony swallowed hard.

"Right," said Steve. He sheathed his sword and stepped closer to the crypt, raising his shield as if he were about to smash the tomb stone.

 _"Are you insane?!"_ hissed Tony. _"What the hell do you think you are doing, Rogers?"_

 _"I can't kill it if I can't get to it with my sword!"_ He brought his shield down with a resounding crash. A blood curdling shriek came from behind the stone, which now sported a small crack. Steve raised his shield again. Percival's grip on his sword became white knuckled. His forehead was clammy and Tony was surprised he hadn't bolted yet. He himself was staying way back, but not anywhere close to a wall, thank you.

_"You are so stupidly brave, you make me nauseous, you asshole."_

Steve hit the stone again, which resulted in more shrieking and more cracks. His smile looked strangely fond, though, which made no sense.

 _"What the hell are you smiling at?"_ Tony wanted to know.

 _"You. You are so stupidly smart it makes me nauseous too."_ And with that Steve lifted the shield and smashed the tombstone to pieces.

Immediately something dark and rotting and vicious came snarling out of it and threw itself at Steve and Percival. Tony had no idea what it was. His nerdy knowledge base was much more scifi oriented than geared towards undead creatures, because the latter didn't come up with many interesting or even interestingly ridiculous ideas, so he found them kinda boring. And he obviously hadn't played enough AD&D in his days to figure out if this was a lich, or a zombie or a wraith or a ghoul or whatever. Whatever it was, it was fucking fast and seemed determined to claw someone's eyes out. More worryingly, it didn't seem to be affected much by the steel of the swords. It clearly didn't feel any pain and it refused to drop limbs that should have been severed by the force of the two knight's blows.

Tony retreated to the altar and watched the fight. As unnerving as the thing was, watching Steve fight was like poetry in motion. Usually when they fought, Tony was too busy fighting alongside to really pay attention. The man was fucking beautiful and Tony felt a familiar tightening in his lower abdomen. He swallowed. No. Nonono. This was not on. This was so not on. He and Steve were BFFs now, at least while they were stuck here together, and Tony wasn't going to fuck that up by adding lust to the mix. They really didn't need that kind of complication at the best of times and these were so not the best of times. He told himself that, intellectually, he could admire Steve's deadly grace, but there was absolutely no need at all to follow that up with wondering how that would translate in the sack. No need. At. All. And the fact that the man was a virgin was irrelevant too. That was Steve's business and not Tony's concern. At _all_.

Yet, he couldn't help but admire the play of the powerful muscles in his arms and legs, the strong hands gripping the shield, the total focus and determination on Steve's face and he couldn't help imagining being held down by all that strength and having all that focus directed at himself. To be helpless and begging for release while Steve took him apart. To be totally at his mercy...

Shame washed over him even as his mouth watered and his dick twitched. What the hell? That was no way to cast the virginal, law abiding symbol of freedom and the American Way (who was disturbingly nice and kind to boot), in your more rapey fantasies. Tony felt he'd sullied him just thinking about it. Except that his dick apparently thought it was a swell idea.

He forced himself to focus on the boner killer zombie in the center of the fight, who still showed no signs of anything affecting it at all. Percival slipped and stumbled and the thing lunged for him, but Steve caught it square in what passed for its face with the shield. He hit it with a force that should have shattered any bones the thing had, but that only distracted it long enough to miss Percival. Tony first thought the knight had slipped on the water their cloaks had been dripping all over the church floor but then he noticed that the thing left footsteps that were shinier than the puddles of water. What the hell was that? It didn't look like blood, it wasn't dark enough. But whether it was ichor or embalming fluid or whether the thing was wetting its pants, Tony had no clue. It didn't actually matter, he thought, the important question was, was it flammable? Apart from actually going to get a sample and analyzing it, which wasn't going to happen, he could only think of one practical way to find out.

 _"If only we had the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch,"_ he muttered.

 _"That would be helpful!"_ Steve yelled back. _"You think you can rig something? Otherwise we might be here till Judgment Day. This thing is indestructible."_

Wow, Steve's hearing was truly phenomenal. And staying here till Judgment Day was not an option Tony would even consider. He wracked his brain to think of what they might have packed that he could use to light a fire. And then he smacked himself in the forehead. Duh.

He found the hooked pole that he needed fairly quickly and then he stood on the altar to lower down the sanctuary lamp. He was fairly sure this would be added to his already not insignificant collection of sins, but he was already on the naughty list anyway. The lamp had a solid weight that promised excellent aerial velocity but it was very hot to the touch. So he left in on the hook of the pole and swung it slowly back and forth a few times to get a feel for it. It was a little bit like lacrosse, which he had played for about a nano second in one of his boarding schools. Where was Clint where you needed him, huh? Useless ass. Tony was a good shot with the repulsors, but actual ballistics he did better in theory than practice. The math of flying objects was lovely and elegant, if a bit simple for his tastes, but he was likely to only get one shot at this. When he felt reasonably sure he could do it, he yelled out.

"Steve, Percival, get behind it!"

He didn't think Percival had understood, but Steve somehow communicated the necessary shift in position to him and within a couple of minutes they had maneuvered themselves out of the way, leaving a clear path between Tony and the wraith, lich, whatever.

"Right. One! Two! Five!" And he swung the lamp overhead. It sailed in a perfect arc towards its goal. The nuking of the Chitauri motherhip would always be Tony's favorite hit, but this was satisfying in a supremely visceral way. The resounding thwack when the lamp hit the undead creature in the small of the back was immediately followed by the whoosh that accompanied a pillar of flame and then some godawful screeching as the thing was apparently dragged straight to hell. It was awesome. He pumped his fist in the air. Steve and Percival scrambled back and then came over to stand with Tony to watch it burn.

When the sounds died down and the thing was reduced to a smoldering pile of rags, Steve looked at him and grinned.

" _Three, Sir_ ," he deadpanned.

Tony cracked up.

" _Three!_ " he corrected. " _For the love of God, stop quoting that fucking movie back at me, Steve. This will not end well._ "

"I think this ended very well," said Steve, "I'd like to say Sir Percival and I had it in hand, but I don't think that was true." Percival nodded.

"Well done, Sir Anthony. That was good thinking." Percival agreed. He was still breathing heavily. Steve, of course, wasn't. Too bad, said a small voice in the back of Tony's head that apparently had a vested interest in hearing Steve pant.

"Well, I think we are done here. Let's see if we can find a place to dry out and maybe find some food." Steve started putting away his sword and shield. The unearthly cold of the place was gone, but the heavy stones of this church would never get warm on a night like this.

"Oh, Sir Stephen, your wisdom and leadership skills are unparalleled." Tony fawned, still giddy with relief.

"And so is your smart mouth," countered Steve as he rubbed his hand in Tony's hair. It was insulting and patronizing, but Tony could not help pushing into it a bit and when Steve's hand trailed down and came to rest on the back of his neck he wasn't even remotely interested in shaking it off. God help him, he liked this handsy incarnation of Steve. This really wasn't going to end well. 

 ***

 ***

They were met outside the door by yet another hermit. It had magically stopped raining, but Tony was still suspicious at how very bone dry this man appeared, with not even any mud on the hem of his robes. Something was definitely up with these people. The man started talking about how the creature had been a false Christian in life, yada, yada and Tony zoned out almost immediately, daydreaming about hot food and warm baths. He snapped back to attention when Greybeard started reaming him out for abusing the sanctuary lamp for unholy purposes and then he lost track again, not because of hot baths, but because the man was right. This time he'd had a handy source of firepower, but that wasn't going to do him much good in future situations. Without the suit and without any sword skills, what he needed was a reliable long distance weapon. The possibilities were laughable of course, but he hadn't been the world's biggest weapons manufacturer for shits and giggles. There had be something he could work with, even here...

 

" _Tony?_ " Steve touched him gently on the shoulder. " _What are you thinking about? We're ready to go. There's a place we can stay in the village._ "

" _Right. Yeah._ " Tony shook himself out of his reverie. " _Hey. We're going to need brimstone and a shit ton of batshit._ "

" _We... What? What on earth for?_ "

Tony grinned at him. " _I'm gonna do like my daddy did. I'm going to build some bombs_."

 


	7. In Which Not Much Happens but Much is Said

It was the sound of scraping that woke Steve up. He'd only been asleep for a couple of hours, he could tell by his internal clock, so that meant it was still Tony's watch. When he opened his eyes he could see the other man seated by the fire with a branch and a knife in his hands. He was scraping something off the branch into the earthenware bowl he had picked up in the village with the haunted church. Then he held the branch up to his face and Steve could see it was blackened on the scraped end. The branch went back into the fire and Tony pulled out another branch with one of his Iron Man gauntlets. He peered pensively at the branch until the embers had died down and then he shook off the ash before he started scraping the charred edges into the bowl. Steve pushed himself up on one elbow.

"What are you doing?" He spoke softly, not wanting to wake Percival on the other side of the fire before the man had to get up for last watch.

Tony looked up from his work. A soft smile played on his face with the flickering of the fire light. "I'm collecting charcoal."

It was the smile more than curiosity that drew Steve out of his bedroll. He sat himself next to Tony. "Want some help?"

"If you can afford to lose the sleep: be my guest."

Steve collected his leather gauntlets and his knife and pulled another stick out of the fire, copying Tony's procedure before he started scraping the charred wood into the bowl.

"Don't cut too deep," warned Tony, "I just need the charcoal, not the actual wood."

"What for?"

"It acts as fuel in gun powder."

Steve looked up sharply. "You're really going to build bombs?"

"You don't think I can? Dude, I spent half my life inventing weapons, this is kindergarten level stuff."

"That's not what I meant. Of course I think you can do this. I think you can do this so well you may change the course of history and should we really risk that?”

“The Chinese have already invented gunpowder by now, Steve, but I can't afford to wait until Marco Polo or whoever it was brings it back here. It's not like I am going to sell it to the locals. I just need some for myself.”

“Do you, though? Need some, I mean. Percival and I, we're perfectly capable--”

Tony stopped scraping.

“Look at me, Steve,” he interrupted. “No. _Look_ at me.” He spread his arms in invitation. “I have no armor, I have no weapons, I have no superpowers. I have no JARVIS even and no fortune. All I have right now are my brain and my middle aged body, that hates me in the morning after sleeping on the ground all night. That, and a failing arc reactor, that is all I have. You know how fucking powerless I feel right now? Almost as powerless as I did in that fucking Afghan cave, almost as powerless as I did when Stane took the reactor out of my chest. Almost as powerless as I did when I thought I was dying of palladium poisoning. There you have it, the three low points of my adult life. And if there is anything I can do to avoid feeling like that ever again, you better believe I am going to do it.”

He went back to scraping, the contained fury obvious in the staccato motions of the knife. Steve watched him for a moment. He saw so much more than a brain and a middle aged body when he looked at Tony, even in this more vulnerable state. His brilliance, his loyalty and his hero's heart were even more obvious when he wasn't hiding in his suit or behind his public persona. But Steve understood how he felt, he'd felt the same so many times before the super serum.

“I get it, Tony. I do.”

“You know, my old man said...” Tony continued as if Steve hadn't spoken, and with his eyes glued to his branch. “He said peace meant having a bigger stick than everyone else. And I don't agree with that anymore on the whole. Not as a country, anyway. But for myself... I have trouble sleeping unless I am absolutely sure I have the biggest stick.”

“That sounds like Howard, all right,” Steve nodded and promptly wished he had bit his tongue. Howard was topic-non-grata for Tony, and any time Steve had mentioned him before, Tony had clammed up, glared at him and walked away. Damn. Steve busied himself with switching out branches, purposely avoiding eye contact, hoping that Tony wouldn't do that this time. The silence stretched. Please don't shut me out, Steve repeated silently, come on, Tony, don't walk away...

Eventually, the silence became unbearable and Steve thought it might now be worse not to say anything.

“Tony--” he started, with no idea of how to continue.

“Do you see Howard when you look at me?” Tony cut over him, almost stumbling over his words. Like if he didn't get them out fast, he wouldn't get them out at all.

Steve was taken aback by the question. He realized immediately there was only one acceptable answer to this and only one shot to get it right. So he blurted it out:  
"No."   
Tony frowned at him. Had he been too quick? Not convincing enough?  
"I don't see Howard when I look at you,” he barreled on. “Sure, sometimes there is a moment, when you tilt your head a certain way, or that frowny look that you do, that you remind me of him. But, really, you're one hundred percent Tony to me. You're not very alike." He paused, then decided to go for broke. "In the beginning I wanted to see him in you, desperately. But you were nothing like him. And I was disappointed at first. Which was why I was such an ass to you back then." He shrugged.  "Or at least it was part of the reason. Loki's scepter didn't help, I guess. But honestly, Tony, I am not looking for your father when I look at you. I haven't for a long time.” He silently said a Hail Mary before continuing. “I actually prefer you, these days.”

“Really.” There was no belief or disbelief in Tony's voice. It was carefully neutral.

Steve sighed a little. Tossing his branch back into the fire, he dropped back onto his elbows and stared up into the sky. The weather had cleared up and the vast expanse of the Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon. It made him feel small and insignificant in a good way. Like, maybe if he screwed this one up, the world might not end after all.

“Yes. Really. I don't know what happened to Howard after the war. Apparently he changed a lot. When I knew him he was a decent enough fellow. I wouldn't call him nice. I am not even sure we were friends, but his heart was in the right place. He was a bit of a snake oil salesmen though, I thought, and if the choice had been between himself and the greater good, I am not so sure the greater good would have won. Still, he contributed to the war effort with everything he had and he had a lot.”

“You don't think you were friends? I had the impression you were more than friends, with the way he searched for you after the war.”

“What?! No!” Steve stared at Tony, whose face was still carefully neutral.

“I mean, if he carried a torch for me, he didn't act on it. I've only ever seen him hit on women.”

“That doesn't mean much. I'm sure you've only seen _me_ hit on women too.”

Steve's mouth went dry. Did Tony... occasionally... with men? The fantasies he had been manfully trying to suppress the last few days came roaring back. Kissing Tony, touching him, touching skin. Tony looking at him, with laughter in his eyes. With want. Drawing him in, drawing him close and pulling him on top, fitting Steve between the expanse of his legs. He blushed at how he wanted to bury his face in Tony's neck and suck on his skin and how Tony would push his hips up and... He forcefully wrenched his attention back to the conversation at hand, praying that Tony hadn't noticed his distraction.

"Still," he managed, "I don't think it was like that. It was like... Like you feel about the Iron Man armor. Like I was something that he created and was proud of, but not like I was an actual person for him to like or dislike. Imagine if you had only one set of the armor and you had no way of making another one and you lost it. How long would you keep looking for it?"

"Forever," stated Tony decisively. "Huh. I never thought of it like that. The way he talked about you, I could have sworn... But I guess I would say the same things about the armor or JARVIS if they were lost to me." He went back to scraping his branch and Steve got a new one out of the fire. They worked in companionable silence for a while. Percival was snoring softly on the other side of the fire. Tony shivered once, but kept working.

Steve had a question. One that he'd never thought Tony would answer, except maybe he had a feeling that if there ever was a moment he could ask it, this would be it. He mulled the pros and cons for a while. Then decided to go for it.

"Tony," he started, and his tone of voice must have given away his trepidation, because Tony barely looked up from his work, suspiciously regarding Steve through his lashes. "You don't have to answer, but I really wonder... Nobody could or would give me any particulars and all I ever got was 'He changed', but... What happened to Howard? How did he go from the decent guy I knew to somebody that nobody wants to talk about? I mean, I wouldn't have pegged him for father of the year material, really, but was he really all that bad?"

Tony didn't say anything for a long time. That was alright, Steve hadn't expected an answer and he wasn't going to push it. He did another couple of branches. When Tony finally spoke it startled him.

"I don't know what happened, because I never knew the guy you knew. Whatever made him caustic and bitter and an alcoholic may have happened before I was born. Maybe it was losing you, maybe it was something else. I don't remember him any other way. Frankly, it pisses me off now that apparently there was a time that he wasn't so bad." Tony shivered. "When I was young, he..."

What followed was a tale of big indifferences and small cruelties. The story of a bright child who tried desperately to please his father only to be ridiculed or ignored. Whose father fed him on stories of his own brilliance and Captain America's heroic deeds, but when Tony tried to emulate the former he got disdain. When he had played at being the latter, as kids are wont to do, his father had laughed derisively and told him he'd never be good enough. It was a story of endless nannies and multiple boarding schools, of forgotten birthdays, trashed treasures and negative attention being better than no attention at all.

Tony told the story dispassionately, shivering occasionally, as if it had happened to a second cousin, once removed, and yet it still rocked Steve to his core. He ached for the child Tony had been, ached for the obnoxious, lonely teenager who'd gone roaring off the tracks. He ached to hold Tony now, to promise him that he would make it right, but he knew he was about 40 years too late and this Tony would not want to be tucked under Steve's chin, no matter how much Steve wanted it. This Tony was radiating 'don't pity me' for all he was worth and Steve respected that, but he could not help needing to move closer. He settled on the edge of Tony's personal space.

Tony's tale trailed off into silence and for a while neither of them said anything. The fire crackled and threw odd shapes over Tony's face, obscuring his emotions. The wind whispered in the grass and an owl was hooting not too far off. Neither of them was still working on the charcoal. Finally, Steve deemed it safe to speak.

“I wish I could have been there for you. I wish I could have talked to Howard when that was going on. I feel like I failed you, somehow.”

Tony snorted and leaned back on his elbow, turning to look at Steve finally. Oddly, there was amusement on his face.

He hadn't expected that expression. “What?” said Steve.

“Just thinking. If you would have been there then, I would now be stuck here with a ninety something year old guy I'd be calling Uncle Steve. Of the two, I much prefer the current situation, really. Less... awkward?”

Less something anyway. Considering his recent fantasies about Tony, Uncle Steve immediately felt like a pervert preying on the innocent. Not that he would have had said fantasies if he'd known Tony as a kid, lord help him. Or even as a young man. He'd seen the pictures of a baby faced Tony in his twenties and he much preferred the worn man next to him, who carried his experiences in the lines on his face. The good, the bad and the ugly. God, it was still so strange to be both older and younger. He shook his head and dared a smile.

“If you call me Uncle Steve in public, I will end you.”

“Heh. You can try.” Then Tony's face turned serious again. It was hard work, keeping up with his mercurial moods. “Aunt Peggy tried. She took Howard to town on several occasions that I remember. It didn't help much, he'd be marginally better for a while and then we'd be back to normal. She just wasn't around often enough to make all that much of a difference.”

For the first time since waking up from the ice, Steve was disappointed in Peggy. He'd known intellectually that she wasn't a saint, but really, did she have to drop the ball on this? But it hadn't been her ball to drop, had it? It had been Howard's and no matter how much Steve wanted to punch him in the face right now, that wasn't going to change a thing. He flopped back into the grass. It was still too early for dew, but it felt cold under him none the less. Tony lowered himself next to him and silence settled in again.

Then, seemingly addressing the stars, Tony said softly: “I guess deep down he loved me anyway. A couple of years ago I found this film that he had recorded when I was young in which he said I was his greatest creation.”

“What the hell?!” Steve was appalled. He popped back onto one elbow and looked down at Tony who stared back, obviously surprised at his sudden outburst.

“Really, Tony. Are you paraphrasing, or are those the words he actually used?”

Tony frowned for a moment. “He literally said... What is, and always will be, my greatest creation... is you. Those were the actual words. It's not like I didn't rewatch that about five hundred times. What is wrong with that? Even if it wasn't to my face, it's the nicest thing he ever said to me.”

“It is also the most self centered, backwards compliment I ever heard.” When Tony still looked puzzled, he continued. “Look, would you say Pepper is your creation?”

“What? No!” Tony crossed his arms, defensively. “I gave her a job, yes, but all the unadulterated awesome is her own.”

“And yet, Pepper is arguably more your creation than you are Howard's. Tony, the man donated a sperm cell, he didn't _create_ you. He didn't even create me and he had a lot more to do with what I am, than with what you are. Your brilliance, your courage, your dedication, your generosity, that is all you. He doesn't get to claim any credit for that. You're not JARVIS or a suit of armor. It'd be like me patting myself on the back as team leader every time Clint hits a target. It'd be like--”

“Alright, alright, I get it. Narcissistic compliment is narcissistic.”

Steve laid back down and stared up into the sky. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for ruining that for me. I had almost convinced myself to give him the benefit of the doubt. That he meant well.”

“The asshole doesn't deserve that.” Steve couldn't tell if Tony was really bummed or not. “Sorry if that was painful. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.”

“Nah, at least my memories are consistent again. Consistency is good. There is much to say for consistency. Can we talk about something else now?”

“Please.”

Steve listened to Tony breathe for a while. If he stretched out his left arm he could touch him. Just the potential of the touch made his stomach swoop and his breath come faster. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. God, this was getting totally out of hand. But he didn't have a clue about how to stop thinking about Tony this way. The more he tried not to, the more persistent it seemed to become.

“Remind me to put away the charcoal before it starts getting wet.” Tony interrupted his internal agonizing.

“Sure.” Steve gratefully jumped onto the change of topic. “What else are you going to need for these bombs?”

“I'm going to need sulfur to lower the ignition temperature. It's known as brimstone in these good ol' days. You know, like the whole Fire And Brimstone thing? We should be able to find that a couple of days north west of here, where they do salt mining. It is practically on the way. And I need saltpeter as an oxidizing agent. There happens to be a lot of that in bat guano.”

“So we're looking for the Bat Cave?” Steve couldn't help but smile.

“Yeah.” Tony sounded amused too. “Don't worry, you can be Robin. You'd make a good Robin.”

“Excuse me? I am your captain, I should be... Never mind, you'd be the perfect Bat Man.”

“That's right, buddy. If anyone here is qualified to be Bat Man, it's me. Bruce Wayne is practically my long lost twin. He is a little dumber and he doesn't have my sunny personality, but we can't all be perfect.”

“Can't wait to see you in those superhero tights, Mr Wayne.” Steve knew that joke was kind of lame, but it seemed important that he help Tony cover up the vulnerabilities he had exposed. At Steve's request, no less, and that was something of a miracle in itself. So the least he could do was help the man regain his footing before the night was through. Nobody wanted to go to sleep with those kind of memories still looming under the surface.

“You don't get enough of that looking in the mirror?” Tony asked.

“A little too much, actually. Tell me, dear suit designer of the Avengers, how come it is just Widow and me in the skintight leather?”

“First of all, it's not leather, you mouth breather. It is a fabric I specifically designed to combine maximum protection with maximum range of motion. It is fireproof, waterproof and acid proof and yet it breathes and wicks away sweat and--”

“And this miracle fabric only comes in a skintight version?”

“Well, no. That is for aesthetics. You should see the piles of thank you notes I get from grateful women and gay men all over the world! In fact, I've been offered good money to design you a suit with strategic cutouts. They helpfully suggest all kinds of interesting placements for them, too. But, of course, that would negatively affect the function of your suit. You should be glad I am such an incorruptible soul and would never jeopardize your health for the sake of a few measly dollars, Steve. I mean, I have enough money anyway, but I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if you were shot in the ass.” He sounded so very, very sincere too.

Steve was laughing so hard, his attempt to shove Tony glanced off his upper arm. Tony shoved him back anyway. And then they were pushing at each other like middle schoolers and Steve knew it was probably childish and transparent as hell, but God, anything to get his hands on Tony right now. Tony didn't stand a chance, of course, not without the armor and definitely not now that he was laughing too. Within a few minutes Steve had Tony pinned under him, breathless with laughter and struggling feebly. He looked down at him and swallowed hard, the smile dying on his face. This felt way too good. Way, _way_ too good. And he clearly hadn't thought this through because in a few moments he was going to embarrass himself or do something stupid, or both. Tony looked back at him as the laughter drained out of him and the silence stretched. His eyes were dilated, but the light was so low, Steve wasn't sure what that meant. He didn't know if it was just him or if Tony felt it too, this tension that sung between them, so impossibly highly strung Steve wasn't sure how he was still breathing. If he was still breathing. He searched Tony's face for clues, but didn't trust his own judgment. The urge to kiss Tony, to plunder his mouth, to lower his full weight onto the man below, to dig his fingers in his hair and just take what he wanted, was overwhelming. In his mind's eye it happened over a dozen times in the space of a few endless seconds and every repeat made it harder to resist.

Then Tony licked his lips and it broke something in Steve.

“Tony...” It sounded as wrecked as he felt.

He hadn't even noticed he had started to lower his head, when a full body shiver went through Tony, and not in an excited kind of way. His breath started to wheeze and Steve threw himself off Tony with alacrity. Jesus, of all the stupid things he'd done... he was way too heavy to lie on top of Tony like that.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Tony! I didn't mean to crush you!”

Tony hit the arc reactor with the side of his fist a couple of times and it flickered and then shone a little brighter. He wheezed another breath and then, thankfully, it seemed to even out. He struggled up to sitting.

“Wasn't you. I can handle you, big guy. It's the reactor, it's fluctuating and it makes me feel cold and shivery and out of breath, like I have a fever coming on. Which I know I don't. Scares the crap out of me.”

No kidding. Steve forced himself not to fly into a panic and to think strategically.

“Is it worse? You said we'd have weeks. Do we still have weeks?”

“Not a whole lot of experience with this situation, but yeah, I think so. It comes and goes. It's more intense now, but not more frequent. I can manage. Just need to rest now, I suppose.”

“Okay. You get some sleep. Get your bedroll and put it next to mine. I want to keep an eye on you. Oh, don't forget to cover up the charcoal first. I am going to wake Percival for the next watch.”

Tony scrambled to his knees and started putting the cooled off charcoal in a pouch.

“Ask Percy if he has a guitar. We can all sing 'Let It Be' by the campfire before we go to sleep,” he offered with a feeble grin.

Steve parsed that for a moment. “Beatles?”

“Well done, grasshopper! There is hope for you yet.”

If only that was the thing he worried about... Steve went to wake up Percival, who truly slept like the dead. Which, good for him, because he and Tony hadn't kept their voices down or anything. It took him several minutes to get the young man up and alert enough to trust him with keeping the rest of the watch till dawn. By the time he'd managed that, Tony was in his bedroll next to Steve's. He slid under his blanket too and tried to calm the turmoil in his mind. Tony had his back turned to him, so there was nothing there in his body language that gave Steve any kind of clue if what had just happened between them had happened only in his own mind or not. What the hell was he doing?

Another shiver went through the body beside him.

“Tony? Are you okay?”

“Still cold, Uncle Steve.” He whined dramatically, but Steve could hear the underlying misery in his voice. Steve rolled over and wrapped his arm around Tony, plastering himself against his back, to share whatever body heat he had.

“Be quiet, whippersnapper,” he admonished, grateful when he felt some of the tension drain out of Tony's body.

“Jesus, you're like a fucking furnace.”

“You're welcome. Now go to sleep or I am going to sing 'Let It Be' to you.”

“No way do you know the words to that!”

 _“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me._.. I keep telling you. Eidetic memory. I don't know why that is so hard for you to grasp.”

Tony made a grumpy noise at that, but it wasn't long before his breath evened out in sleep. Steve pressed his face into Tony's hair and let out a shuddering breath. Of all the stupid things he had done in his life, falling in love with Tony Stark had to be at least in the top three.

 


	8. In Which There is a False Hermit and Lord Anthony Blows Shit Up

Maybe the hardest thing about this era, Tony thought, and there were many, many things that clamored to be on top of that list, maybe the hardest thing to adjust to was how everything you wanted to do seemed to take a million years. If you wanted food, you had to cook it from scratch, complete with peeling vegetables and all that shit. If you wanted to talk to somebody, you had to actually go find that person, and often you wouldn't even know where they were. And if you wanted to go to the other side of the country, a mere few hundred miles, it would take fucking weeks to get there. Tony had known he wasn't a particularly patient man, he had that much self awareness thankyouverymuch, but there were times he felt like impatience might actually be the death of him. If the failing arc reactor didn't kill him first and the two were definitely related.

This was the third time today that Steve and Percy had been challenged by some random passing knights and once again, they would be busy for the next hour pummeling some bechainmailed idiot who hadn't realized after one look at Steve that he didn't stand a chance. Just the sight of another man bearing a sword was apparently like a red flag to a bull. Tony wasn't sure if they reminded him more of horny stags, fighting cocks or frat boys. A little bit of all three, with the bull thrown in for good measure. He sighed and climbed off his horse, while he listened with half an ear to Steve trying to persuade his most recent challenger that they really didn't have to do this, that they were just passing through and would be off his land in no time and they wouldn't even take any of the womenfolk. Ok, Steve didn't say that last bit, but Tony thought he should have, that might actually have convinced the guy to let them pass in peace.

Tony unwrapped the bundle on his pack horse that held his improvised saltpeter extraction device, to check on its progress. The bat guano would work when used in the raw, but if the saltpeter was leached out of it to be used pure, the resulting explosive devices would be much more powerful. He'd figured out a way to do it on the road, so they wouldn't have to stop for two days to process the bat shit, and that made the fact that their progress was being held up by these little encounters extra annoying. The sounds of metal striking metal came from behind him and he suppressed the urge to turn around and drool at Steve in action. It had become somewhat of an addiction, frankly, and one he needed to quit cold turkey. Another reason why these encounters were bad.

Tony just didn't know anymore what to make of his feelings for Steve. He almost wished for the good old days back in the tower where they'd bicker and fight. When Steve had been a bull headed boy scout who thought he could tell Tony what to do. The fact that Tony had ended up doing what Steve said most of the time hadn't been relevant in the least. Well, maybe a little bit. Tony had been unprepared for the Steve he had encountered here. The man had been so goddamn happy to see him, and Tony had had no defense against that. To be honest, he'd been so fucking happy himself to see Steve's stupid, pretty face and while he told himself that was just because he needed Steve to get out of this shitshow, that wasn't entirely true. He'd missed the straight-laced, overbearing dumbass, much more than he'd thought he would. And Steve was all smiles for Tony, like he'd never been before, and he'd been kind and understanding and, and... handsy and Tony felt like he'd been pulled under water by a Naiad, happily drowning with a smile on his face.

Then things had changed again, a few nights ago when Tony all of sudden had found himself telling Steve things he hadn't even told Pepper or Rhodey. Ugly old nasty things that he normally shut away in a remote corner of his mind, because they made him feel lost and vulnerable and lonely. And Steve hadn't flinched, had even seemed grateful that Tony had given him those ugly things and all of a sudden Tony hadn't felt so lonely anymore. Still vulnerable, but somehow he trusted Steve not to exploit that. Which was weird, because Tony had had to learn so many times that he couldn't afford to trust anyone like that, but apparently you could trust against your better judgment too.

Then there had been something that Tony could have sworn was an almost-kiss. And despite his little sojourn into inappropriate fantasies in that haunted church, his own reaction should have been 'What the hell?' But instead it had been 'Hell yes!' and Tony still didn't know if he was pissed or relieved it hadn't happened. Nothing had been said about it afterwards, Steve went back to normal right after. Well, the new normal, the kind and smiley normal. The normal that was sucking Tony in like cartoon quicksand. Except now it was even worse, because Steve held a part of Tony that no one else knew about, and it had created some sort of a bond that Tony was afraid he could never again undo. And even more afraid that he didn't want to undo it. Which is why he hadn't dared to ask about this possibly almost-kissing stuff.

So watching Steve fight this fight was out of the question. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded yet again how thoroughly fuckable the man was. Instead, he checked the bat shit, and the sulfur and the charcoal and congratulated himself on being just about ready to blow some stuff up. Then repacked it all and sunk onto the slightly damp grass to wait for Steve's inevitable victory while he napped. It was ridiculous how quickly he tired these last few days, so the more sleep the better. Steve had made sure Tony always had first watch, so he could get a chunk of uninterrupted sleep, and Tony had wanted to scoff, but it did help, so he'd swallowed his pride and just agreed. The worst part was that Steve would always send Tony to bed with a worried face as soon as he took over the watch and there hadn't been any repeats of their midnight confessions. As uncomfortable as that had been, he wouldn't have minded to repeat the experience.

 ***

 ***

As if all the testosterone fueled pissing contests with other knights weren't bad enough, the next morning they met another hermit. This one wasn't so much for the personal admonishments, he just requested the brave knights to come pray in the small chapel that was built almost into the rocky outcrop of the hills they had been traveling through. Percival was already climbing off his horse and Steve looked at Tony.

"Go right ahead, big boy. I'll stay with the horses." This shouldn't take too long anyway.

It took long enough, though. Eventually he tied the horses up and sat himself against a rock, enjoying the morning sunshine.

When he woke up the sun was much higher in the sky and yet, there was no sign of Steve and Percy. Something wasn't right. He pushed himself up to standing and walked over to the little chapel. He couldn't hear anything from inside the little building, but that would have been the case if they were still praying too. The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was a hint of a smell. It wasn't incense. It smelled a lot like sulfur but it was overlaid with something much sweeter. There was still no sound. When his eyes had adjusted to the gloom within the windowless little structure, he saw there was nothing inside. No altar, no pews and most importantly, no Steve or Percy. He cursed under his breath. There was no way they would have left him and the horses behind while he slept, so they still had to be here. Warily, he entered the building, on his guard for any undead creatures that might want to devour him.

There was a whole lot of nothing. The walls were made of irregularly shaped rocks and the floor of irregularly shaped slate paving stones. The ceiling beams were unadorned wood. There was no sign that his building had ever functioned as a chapel, or anything else, really. Finally, in the far corner, he noticed one of the pavers wasn't actually a paving stone, but a dark metal manhole cover. He knelt next to it to explore it from closer up.

The smell was much stronger here. So strong Tony could almost see little tendrils of the fumes escape from between the cracks between cover and floor. He reared back. Tony hadn't spent his middle decades living a life of utter debauchery without learning what mind altering drugs felt like at first exposure. He pinched his nose shut and scrambled out of the building without inhaling again. With a couple of deep breaths his head cleared. Fortunately. Because it was obvious that Steve and Percival had to be somewhere down that manhole, drugged to the gills and they were going to need Tony to get them out. Which meant that Tony was going to have to go in, but without breathing that shit, whatever it was. It was doubtful he'd be able to hold his breath for long enough to accomplish anything and he couldn't be sure that just plugging his nose would be enough, until he tried it and that wasn't going to fly. There really was only one solution.

He dragged the burlap sack with his armor pieces off the pack horse and got out the helmet and the chest plate. Cursing the fact that he only had the emergency toolkit he kept stashed in the armor to work with, he started taking them apart. The going was much too slow for his tastes. Who knew how long Steve could breathe those fumes before they killed him? And what the fuck had possessed him to jump down a well with a crazy hermit in the first place? The naive idiot. The singing birds and babbling brook in the clearing he was in were mocking his sense of urgency and lacking a Steve to yell at, Tony cursed them heartily. It didn't help much.

Once he'd extracted the air-filtration system out of the armor, together with enough pieces to cover his mouth, nose and eyes (one couldn't risk exposing their mucusy membranes to the toxin) and had pieced them together as well as he could manage under the circumstances, there was only one thing left to do. He considered crossing himself, like Percival did about twenty times a day, but just gritted his teeth instead.

Then he hot wired the contraption into the arc reactor.

The reactor surged wildly and Tony was hit by a wave of nausea. Holding his new creation out of the way, he emptied his stomach into the grass. Fuckity fuck. That was worse than he'd expected. He'd be damned, though, if he was going to die here in a puddle of vomit while Steve hallucinated himself to death somewhere below ground. Probably damned in the literal sense of the word, the way things were going. He willed the reactor to stabilize and after a few excruciating minutes, it finally did. Tony struggled upright and took a deep breath. Then he put on his makeshift air filtration system and strode towards the chapel. Better get this done before he fell on his face again.

He didn't smell anything when he opened the door of the chapel this time. That was good news. At least some of the stuff was being filtered out. Of course, it was perfectly possible that the actual culprit was an odorless compound and there would be no way to find out if the filter got it out until he started seeing dancing unicorns, or something less benign, but that couldn't be helped. He struggled a bit with the manhole cover and when it came off a cloud of yellowish smoke billowed out, dissipating quickly. Tony peered down the hole. There was a flickering light coming from somewhere under the hill the chapel was situated against. He could see rungs leading down the shaft, but nothing else. Right. Down into the belly of the earth, into what seemed to be another fucking cave. Nothing good ever happened to Tony in caves.

Once he had climbed down, he went towards the light. He found Steve, Percival and the hermit in a fairly small low ceilinged cave. The hermit was sitting cross legged on the floor of the cave grinning at Tony while both knights were slumped forward from what had presumably been a kneeling position. They were right by a crack in the cave floor that was emitting the fumes. Tony suppressed the urge to run to Steve to see if he was alright. He either was or he wasn't, but Tony had the distinct impression that he wouldn't be allowed to run off with Steve right now. And there was the tiny little problem of Tony not being strong enough to lug the dead weight of the man up and out of the manhole, even if there was no opposition. He eyed the hermit warily, pacing slowly between the two knights. At least both of them were breathing. Having verified that, he backed up a little, putting more distance between himself and the seated man. The silent stare off continued for minutes and then the hermit grinned even more widely, as if he knew something Tony didn't know. When he finally spoke, his voice wasn't anything like Tony remembered from that morning. It gave him the chills.

"Well, well," the hermit said, "I believe the squire has come to search for his masters. Why don't you take off your mask and join us in our prayers?"

"Not a chance," Tony answered, "I don't like those kinds of prayers."

"Really? Are you sure? The blond one seems to be having a good time."

Tony looked at Steve more closely. He could only see half of his face, since the other half was smushed into the floor, but that half did look like he was enjoying himself. He was smiling rather dopily and Tony made a mental note to be nice and not to mention that to Steve once this was over. When he looked back up at the hermit it seemed like the man had flickered. As if the TV had been tuned to a different channel while Tony checked out Steve and had been changed back at the last moment. Tony considered the fact that the hermit might not be an actual hermit.

"What is he seeing?" Tony didn't really care. The curiosity he felt about what could make Steve look so happy didn't compare to the rapidly rising dread that something was very, very wrong here. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on and the nasty cassocked bastard hadn't spontaneously started monologuing. Yet. Tony still had hope he could goad him into it.

"I don't believe you would want to know, squire. Just know that it would tarnish the purity of his soul if it were to be reality." The way the man almost smacked his lips when he said the word 'soul' made Tony's hackles rise.

 "And you are concerned for his soul?"

The man flickered again and for a second Tony thought he saw someone, something, much darker in his place. Something with leathery wings. Something that was licking its lips with an obscenely large and narrow tongue. Tony was grateful for the mask covering his face, because he was sure his eyes had bugged out. What the hell was he up against here?

"Oh yes. So much concern," the thing said mockingly. "I look forward to possessing it soon, in all its freshly tainted glory."

"Really," stated Tony, making sure all the apprehension he was feeling wasn't showing in his voice. "You're in the soul collecting business then." Fortunately, he had lots of practice getting what he wanted from despicable people at political -and charitable- events and he forced himself into that debonair mindset. "Demon? Devil? Evil overlord? Are you friends with Loki?"

The thing flickered again and hissed disdainfully. "Loki! He is a child! The god of mischief. Pshaw. What is mischief but child's play?"

Tony thought back on the near destruction of New York and begged to differ, but he wasn't stupid enough to voice that opinion. The important bit of information here was that this demon, or whatever it was, considered itself more badass than Loki, which was worrisome. Also, if Tony wasn't mistaken, there was a little bit of unfriendly competition there. That made it unlikely he was dealing with Satan himself, because the latter should be able to blow Loki out of the water. Without batting an eye. For the time being, Tony was going to guess mid to high level minion of the Lord of Hell.

Which begged the question of how the hell Tony ended up getting into these situations? And more importantly, how was he going to get out of this particular one with both their souls intact and without shitting himself?

"You know, Loki sent both of us here. Hoping we'd die. It would really piss him off if we didn't."

The demon looked at him intently. Now he was hermit shaped, but his eyes had elongated pupils and shone a sickly purple. Tony'd almost rather have him drop all human guise.

"Oddly, you speak the truth. Yet I am not stupid enough to give up the blond one's soul just to spite that sniveling twat."

Tony shrugged. It had been worth a try, but he had been prepared for it to fail. He was not prepared for the thing being able to tell whether he spoke the truth or not, though. That was a serious complication. Tony wondered if the demon could mind read or if it just had an internal lie detector of some sort. Or maybe it was just so attuned to the state of souls, it could tell when they were being devalued by the act of lying.

He tipped his head towards Percival, who was groaning softly, and really not as happy looking as Steve.

"What about that one? Can I buy the blond one's soul with his?"

The demon laughed in a most unpleasant manner and Tony had to suppress a shudder.

"That one is going to be mine already, little man. You are too weak to carry him out of here. I can sense it. So he will die and be mine."

"I can't carry him, but I can kill him."

If a demon could look surprised, this one did. Which meant he couldn't read Tony's mind and that was the first good news Tony had had all day.

"He will die within a day anyway. Why would you kill him? Are you not sworn to protect him?"

Tony chose not to answer the question, so he wouldn't lie. He started pacing around the little cave they were in, looking into the nooks and crannies. There had to be another source of oxygen in this space, or Percival would have asphyxiated already with the manhole cover closed. Steve would probably have lasted longer, but there was no telling how long. Meanwhile, he talked.

"If he dies before his soul is properly tarnished by whatever impure thoughts that smoke is planting in his brain, I'll bet you're not going to get it. I'll bet the other side gets his soul then. The side with the angels and such. So if I kill him now, I would technically be saving his soul. By not killing him, his soul is mine to bargain with."

The demon looked intrigued.

"You would trade his soul for the blond one's?"

Tony realized at that moment that they should have known this guy was an impostor all along. All of the actual Grail hermits had called them by name. And all of them had had nasty things to say about Tony, while this one had ignored him when they first met.

Since lying was out, Tony went with the truth full throttle. "I would trade this entire fucking world for the blond one's soul." He was struck himself by _how_ true it was. Tony would burn the world down for less than a handful of people, but Steve was definitely on that list. He wasn't going to lose that man.

"Including your own soul?"

"Does my soul have any value? I would think it would be completely ruined by all the deaths I am responsible for. With all the blood I have on my hands, surely, my soul is a shoo in for you. Why haven't you taken it yet?" He watched the demon ponder his words. He thought there might be a little airflow coming from a shadowy place behind him. Avoiding showing any interest in that, he stepped back a bit to make sure he wasn't mistaken. He needed to keep the demon engaged, though.

"Well?"

There was still no answer and that was answer enough.

"You can't, can you?" Well, well, wasn't that interesting.

"You can't kill me." Tony almost stepped forward, then remembered he was checking for airflow, and held back, pretending he was keeping a safe distance. "Can you even touch me? I bet you can't. I bet you didn't even touch them either. I bet you just convinced them to move the cover and come in here and the fumes did the rest. Maybe you aren't even really here. Actually, I don't think you are. You can't even physically manifest, can you?" He cackled in glee, but quit abruptly when the demon dropped all pretense of being human and reared up on black scaly haunches, unfurling clawed wings. It lunged at Tony with a snout full of razor sharp teeth and Tony really couldn't help but scramble backwards. It was a reflex. Physically present or not, the thing was fucking terrifying. Tony's back hit the wall and then the thing was looming over him, his whole being radiating menace.

"Did you piss yourself, little mortal?" the beast mocked. Tony manfully still had control over his bladder, but it had been a close call. He noticed a definite gust of air on the exposed part of his face in this position, though. He mentally cataloged its location and now he was getting pretty desperate to leave. But they seemed to be at a bit of standoff. Real or not, Tony wasn't going to risk walking through the thing. He wracked his brain for a way to get it to back off.

In the end, Steve did it for him.

Steve's moan cut through the quiet of the cave and both Tony and the demon turned their heads to look at him. He was still in the same slumped position, but the dopey, happy face he had had before was now transformed to something that Tony could only call... well, he could be kind and call it 'aroused' but honestly, this could only be Steve's sex face. Tony shouldn't be surprised. As hung up on virginity as these people were, it followed logically that the sullying of Steve's soul involved losing that. At least in his mind. Yet, Tony hadn't been prepared to witness it. He wanted to be a decent man and look away, but that was really fucking hard. No pun intended, but shit, if Steve ever looked at Tony like that, things would be hard and there would be fucking. For days. He tried to drag his mind out of the gutter and focus on the ugly thing in front of him, when Steve drove the final nail into Tony's coffin by moaning again and then panting:

"Oh God! Tony, please! Tony...." He broke off with a half sob on Tony's name and Tony tried to simultaneously retrieve his stomach from the vicinity of his boots and to will his instant erection down. Jesus fuck! Steve! He felt like he might spontaneously combust with the effort not to show any reaction when he noticed the demon looking at him from a bit of a distance.

"The smoke is opening his mind to me. Would you like to see who he's thinking off?" It asked. It almost clapped its hands in glee. "This is wonderful! It is delightfully sinful."

Tony managed a breathy "No, thanks" but the demon ignored him. It flickered again and then Tony was looking at himself. Not as he was now, with his long hair and beard and dressed in ridiculous tunics, but as he looked in the 21st century after a three day stint in his workshop. Dressed in a grimy black tank top that barely covered the arc reactor and with engine grease on a face covered in stubble. That version of him Steve could have seen anytime, even though he'd had no idea that that look had been in any way attractive to Steve. But he was one hundred percent sure he'd never greeted Steve with his cargo pants zipped down and pulled halfway down his hips, the head of his cock peeking -and leaking- over the waistband of a pair of white briefs. He tried to work up some indignation for Steve's boring choice of underwear for him, but the realization that Steve wanted him, that Steve wanted to get his hands on him, that he would be up for fucking Tony, that he might be at this very moment dreaming about exactly that, made the indignation burn away in a haze of lust.

Then the demon flickered back to hermit with the purple eyes and beamed at Tony.

"A sodomite! I know you are disgusted now, little man. You'd better go. You can't win. Once he spills, the Grail is lost and his soul his mine."

And that was like being dunked in a bucket of ice water. Shit! There was no time to lose. He ran over to Steve and knelt beside him.

"Steve!" He whispered urgently. Steve frowned. Good, he must be hearing him on some level. "Steve! Do not come. I mean it. I forbid you to come." Steve frowned harder. Tony tried again.

"It's part of the game, Steve. You can have me, but do not come. Can you do that for me?" Steve looked unsure. "I swear to God, Steve, I will never fuck you again if you come before I tell you to.” He paused, then added: “I'll make it up to you later, I promise, babe. Just don't come yet."

That would have to do. The demon was coming towards him, probably confused about the hold up, so Tony scrambled back onto his feet and ran towards the exit. He went up the rungs and pulled himself out of the manhole.

Then he hesitated and stuck his head back in.

"You know. Loki can physically manifest just fine!" he yelled. The answering roar was gratifying.

 ***

 ***

As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the light outside the chapel, he scrambled up onto the hill. Mentally retracing the steps below ground he started searching for any signs of smoke. He had felt some airflow below, which meant that there had to be a vent around here somewhere. After several increasingly frantic yet fruitless minutes, he risked taking his air filter off and took a deep sniff. Yeah, sulfur and something cloyingly sweet, it had to be close by. He found it eventually, behind some shrubbery. It was small and it was rather far from the main cave, but that could actually work to his advantage. From what he'd seen and estimated, with the manhole open he should be able to create quite an effective wind tunnel.

He went back down the hill and got to work. He hadn't been able to commission suitable containers yet, but he was sure their food bowls would work in a pinch. The sulfur, saltpeter and charcoal were laid out around him when a knight came riding into the clearing. He threw a cursory look Tony's way, and made to ride on, but then abruptly changed his mind. Wheeling his horse around, he came straight at Tony, who had to get up and stop him from destroying his supplies.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

"You! That is Sir Percival's horse. Where is he?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I am Sir Bors, you knave. Now tell me where he is or I will smite you where you stand." He started unsheathing his sword. Medieval frat boys, Tony thought, always ready with their swords.

"Do that and you'll be sure to damn his soul to hell."

This of course required much more explanation and Tony tried to keep it brief and then he had to keep Bors from charging in after Percival, because he seemed to think the power of his righteous anger would make him immune to the mind altering effects of the smoke. Tony knew that kind of anger well, so he wasn't a complete dick about it, but on the other hand, he was on a tight schedule here, so he was at least a little bit of a dick. Bors didn't seem to have a very pleasant personality himself, though, so fairly soon Tony was back at work while Bors paced in front of the chapel, occasionally yelling at Tony to hurry the hell up. As if Tony wasn't worried about Steve's soul. Or body. Because he hadn't gotten his hands on the latter yet and he really, really needed to.

He finally filled one of the little bowls with his mixture and tied another one on top. He ran back inside with his mask on and checked that the manhole cover was still open. It was. The fucker really didn't have a physical form then. Which meant Tony couldn't kill him, but that was probably too much to ask anyway. As long as he could get Steve out. Meaning, as long as he could wake Steve up. He instructed Bors to hold the chapel door open while standing behind it and then he went back to the vent. He would blow up the entire fucking mountain if he had to, but really, in order not to bury Steve and Percival under rocks it really would be preferable by far if this worked like he'd planned. He eyed the vent hole and calculated the best place to wedge the bowl. There were way too many estimated variables in his calculations for him to be happy with them, but there was no way to help that. He gathered some dead grass to help along his makeshift fuse and then, with a little prayer, he lit it with his flint and ran for cover.

Seconds ticked by, each one lasting an eternity. When the explosion finally hit he wanted to weep for joy. A few shards of rock flew by his head, but as soon as he deemed the coast clear he jumped up to view his handiwork. It was beyond satisfying. A thick cloud of the yellow smoke was being forcibly pulled out of the hole he had blasted in the rock, meaning fresh air was right now being pulled in through the manhole. It should be enough to break the hold of the drug on Steve's mind. He prayed it would be enough.

 ***

 ***

The atmosphere around the campfire was subdued that night. When Tony and Bors had gotten to the cave, the demon had obviously cut his losses and disappeared. Steve and Percy had been in the process of hacking up their lungs and it had been a while before they had managed to get them out of there. Now they had made camp a few miles away from there, but, although they were breathing normally by now and didn't seem to have any other physical ailments, the experience was obviously still affecting them. Tony was exhausted. Once the adrenalin had crashed, so had Tony, and Steve had had to hold him in front of him on his horse, because Tony would have fallen off his own. Tony had not liked the stiff and tentative way Steve had held on to him, but he was in no condition to argue. And Steve hadn't said more than two words to him all evening.

Now he was sitting next to him and Tony needed to sleep, but he couldn't yet, because he needed to eat first. He wasn't hungry, because the arc reactor was still causing waves of mild nausea, but he knew not eating would be a stupid, stupid decision right now. So he watched Bors make food while the stocky man kept scolding Percy. And Steve on occasion. Apparently Steve had failed him too, in some way. Steve didn't react to that. He hadn't reacted to Tony's prodding earlier either. He was just staring stoically into the fire as if he was trying to kill it with the power of his gaze. Trying to kill something, anyway. Tony had a pretty good guess what Steve was trying to kill and he wanted to tell him memories didn't work that way, but it was clear Tony was the last person Steve wanted to talk to right now.

"What was that monster making you see, anyway?" Bors was asking Percy, while he ladled food into a bowl for him. Percy looked back at him with wounded eyes. Then he hung his head.

"I was killing my mother," he whispered after a bit. "Over and over again, in different ways."

Bors handed food to Steve and Tony and then got himself some. He sat down next to Percy and started shoveling it into his mouth. Tony started eating too.

"What I don't understand, though," Bors said after a bit, through a mouth full of stew. "Is how being forced to kill your mother would be damning your soul. I mean, if you're made to do it, surely you're not--"

"First I was made to do it," Percy cut in, "but then I started remembering all the hateful things she said and then I started to not mind so much... By the time I was woken up I was starting to enjoy her weeping and crying for mercy. If I hadn't woken up, I think I would have started to enjoy killing her too." He paused and put his bowl aside, appetite lost. "I am a terrible person." Bors was looking a little shocked, like he was torn between agreement and trying to make it right, so Tony said:

"You weren't in your right mind, Sir Percival. The ill humors in the smoke were messing with your head. You cannot be blamed for the things you saw."

"You think so?" Percival asked hopefully.

Tony didn't think so. Tony thought the whole soul stealing scam wouldn't have worked if these visions hadn't somehow had a root in the victim's own minds, but he sure wasn't going to tell Percy that. Love-hate relationships with parental figures were one of the few emotional issues he did understand. So he just nodded.

Bors looked at Steve now.

"What about you? What did you see?"

Steve lifted his eyes from the fire for a second.

"I don't remember," he said curtly.

Bors frowned and Percy looked hurt. Tony gaped, then wanted to strangle him. Don't remember! Was that how it was going to be? Jesus, the fucking coward. Tony tossed his bowl aside, not being able to choke down another bite.

"I am going to sleep," he announced to no one in particular. "I've had a long day. Thank you for letting me save your asses today, it's been a real pleasure." He was too fucking tired to deal with this bullshit.

He was still awake though, when Steve rolled out his bedroll close by a little later. He waited until Steve had settled, then he hissed:

"You're a fucking liar, Rogers." He heard Steve's sharp inhale. Then the man bit back.

"I wasn't in my right mind, Stark. I cannot be blamed. You said so yourself."

Tony chewed on that silently for a while. When he felt he was able to retort with sufficient sarcasm, he said:

"Fine. Sweet dreams then, o fearless leader."

Steve said nothing, but Tony could feel the tension emanating from him from several feet away.

 


	9. In Which Sir Stephen Vows to Never Speak of His Dreams and a Monster is Vanquished

Steve failed to talk to Tony for more than a week. It wasn't Tony's fault, he'd tried several times during the first few days. But Steve couldn't even look at him without being mortified, let alone talk to him like a rational person. As soon as Tony started to address him, it would all come rushing back -damn the eidetic memory- and Steve would be torn between the overwhelming rush of feeling Tony underneath him, naked and wanting, Tony's mouth on him, Tony's arms and legs around him, and the paralyzing fear that Tony would find out what Steve wanted to do to him. What Steve _had_ done to him, in the dark recesses of his mind.

Because if Tony found out, it would ruin everything. Steve didn't even know if they could remain on the team together with something like that hanging between them, it would be too awkward and uncomfortable, not to mention painful. Steve had no illusions about how painful it would be for him. He knew that, after the awkward and uncomfortable phase, or even to try and lighten that awkward phase, Tony would not be able to help cracking jokes about what had gone on in Steve's head. Because in the 21st century, and especially in Tony's 21st century, dirty sex was something you could joke about. And Steve would live in eternal mortification.

With every joke Tony would crack, Steve's heart would crack a little too. Despite the depraved things he apparently wanted to do to Tony -and his mind was still reeling from the realization that those were things he wanted- Steve knew it had been the 'mine, mine, _mine_ ' that his heart had sung triumphantly, that had been the most significant aspect of the experience. Steve wanted Tony to be his and Tony would be treating him like one big, giant joke, and he would drag out Steve's fantasies for all to see and ridicule.

He couldn't stand the thought of that.

So Steve clammed up and fought down his blush when Tony tried to talk to him, until Tony gave up after a few days. Right now, even if he'd wanted to talk he wouldn't know how to begin anymore. Every day, every hour, every minute the wall between them had grown bigger and now it felt like the silence itself was choking him.

He also had forbidden himself to touch Tony. He didn't trust himself with that at all. Touching would turn into caressing, he wouldn't be able to help it. It was awful, because Tony was looking more tired and haggard by the day and Steve ached to touch him. To check on him and support him and to keep him warm at night, and he just couldn't risk it. So he watched Tony struggle from a distance. It was his fault that Tony was stuck here and if the man died here, Steve wasn't sure he'd dare to go back to rest of the Avengers, even if he could. He had taken Tony off the watch roster, now that Bors had joined them and he made sure that he ate. At night, when Tony slept, he'd cover him with his own blanket, because the man seemed perpetually cold, but he didn't dare share body heat. Especially not that. Tony would be better off if Steve kept his distance. But, dammit, he missed him.

 

It was late afternoon when they first glimpsed the Irish Sea on the horizon. They were coming down out of the hills after a relatively uneventful day. Only one knight had challenged them and Bors had dispatched him with ease. They'd had a lady hermit prophecy at them as well, but she'd just confirmed that everyone except Tony was good and brave and on the right track, and that Percival had to be careful who he trusted, but she hadn't given them any tasks that delayed them. The sun was getting low, glinting off the sea on the horizon, and while Steve was tempted to push on to reach the water, just for the sense of accomplishment it would give him, he knew that would be hard on Tony. So they made camp a little early in an abandoned barn and it was just as well, because shortly afterwards the sun was obscured by a storm front moving in and they were grateful for the bit of shelter the holey thatched roof provided. He made sure Tony had a dry spot to sleep in and Tony looked at him, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Your concern for my well being is heart warming, Captain. Especially since you're barely acknowledging my existence otherwise. Truly, the cockles of my heart are tickled pink, or something."

It was the most Tony had said to him in three days. Steve didn't know if he was grateful the man was trying connect again, if only to get a rise out of him, or annoyed that he just couldn't let things be.

"Just take the spot, Tony."

"Is that an order, O Captain my Captain?"

Steve sighed. "Yes, it is. If you want to, I can order the others to not take that spot, so it doesn't offend your sensibilities to take an order from me. But you'll still end up in that spot."

Tony did a mock amazed face.

"Oh wow! Look how many words he's graced me with! Why, that's more than he's said to me, cumulatively, since I pulled his ass out of the Cave of Sinners. And here I thought he'd been replaced by a Captain America blow up doll."

"Leave it be, Tony."

"Nah, I don't think I will. I did that for days and it doesn't seem to do any good. Care to tell me why I suddenly feel like I have leprosy? Did I rescue you wrong? Too fancy? Too late? Too early? You certainly looked like you were having a good time."

Steve swallowed hard and fought down his blush. Tony went on, relentlessly.

"Is that it? Are you pissed I didn't let you finish your naughty little daydream? Did little Stevie still want to play? So sorry, Cap, but I didn't want you to ruin our chances of getting out of here. So I am afraid you had to hold on to your baby-batter. I do apologize for taking the long term view. I know strategic planning is more your forte, but you were too busy having dirty dreams.”

“Tony!” Steve almost shouted, mortified to the depth of his being that Tony somehow knew the nature of his sinful thoughts.

“Seriously? Having the naughty dreams is the bug that crawled up your ass? Must be getting uncomfortable with all the sticks you have up there too. Jesus Christ, I thought it was something I'd done, but you're just having the little crisis of conscience that any 12 year old altar boy who recently discovered his own dick, has had.”

“Tony! Shut! Up!” It came out through gritted teeth.

“Fine. Whatever. Lord knows I can't help you with that particular crisis, because it's a stupid crisis.” Tony strode off to go roll out his bedroll, to Steve's immense relief. He took a deep breath and let it go slowly. Was he really having a stupid crisis? Images from his dreams flashed through his mind's eye and he had to clamp down on them hard, because they still shocked him.

Across the barn Tony was muttering to himself. “How naughty can they have been anyway? I bet the Captain America blow up doll has naughtier fantasies than him... I bet the Captain America blow up doll would be more fun to fuck.”

Nope. Not a stupid crisis. Tony had no idea. And Steve was going to let it stay that way.

 ***

 ***

Steve woke up early the next morning after his middle watch. He could see the gray light of dawn through the barn's doorway, but the light hadn't reached inside yet. Tony was still sleeping and so was Bors, who had had first watch. He looked around for Percival, but didn't see him. Maybe he had gone out to relieve himself. He waited a few minutes, but when the man hadn't come back inside yet, he decided to investigate. The storm had blown over, but the skies were still gray and the grass was very wet. The birds were loudly expressing their joy at the change in weather, though. The morning was decidedly chilly, a sign that summer was drawing to an end. There was still no sign of Percy in the immediate vicinity, so he walked out to the track they'd come in on.

When he rounded a copse of trees, he spotted the man, but he wasn't alone. About two hundred yards down the track Percival was talking to a lady, who was holding a beautiful black horse by the reins. The animal was pawing the muddy ground restlessly and tossing his manes. As Steve watched the lady handed the reins to Percival, who looked delighted. Suddenly wary, Steve made to call out to Percival, but the man had already jumped into the saddle. As soon as his butt hit the leather, the horse was off and Steve's cry got stuck in his throat. Within seconds the horse had disappeared around the bend, its speed way beyond anything that could be considered natural. The lady turned to Steve, smiled at him and then vanished into thin air.

Damn!

Steve ran back inside the barn, while yelling for Tony and Bors to get up. Bors was the first to grasp the situation and Steve sent him off after Percy, after he'd quickly saddled his horse. Steve helped Tony pack up to follow as soon as they could. He knew he could have gone himself and leave Tony with Bors to catch up with him later, but he rejected that idea as soon as it presented itself. He wasn't going to get separated from Tony again and, really, when push came to shove, he just didn't care about Percival's well-being as much as he did about Tony's. He saddled the horses and then loaded them up with the stuff Tony handed him.

“I'm sorry we have to skip breakfast,” Steve said.

Tony looked at him oddly. Then he shook his head wearily. “Don't worry about it, I've gone without food for much longer than this. I am not even hungry.”

Steve bit his tongue and just nodded.

When they left the barn, Steve indicated Tony go first and as fast as he could manage and Steve would follow with Percy's horse and the pack horse in tow. Tony might not be fit, but his horse was fine, so they made good time anyway. Steve, through his super soldier eyes, thought he could see the black horse running pell-mell towards the sea and Bors several miles behind him. It was clear the shorter man couldn't overtake Percival before he reached the end of the bluff and it didn't look like the horse was planning on stopping at the edge. Unfortunately, that's where a swell in the landscape cut off his line of vision and the only thing they could do was ride on and hope for the best.

 

Steve and Tony arrived at the bluff where they had last seen Percival after an hour or so of hard riding. Only Bors's horse stood there, with wild eyes and heaving flanks and covered in sweat, but there was no sign of either man. Steve jumped off his horse and gestured to Tony to do the same. Making their way to the edge of the cliff they peered down. About twenty yards below them Percival and Bors were in the middle of a battle with what Steve first thought was a giant snake, but the small fins and way it was fighting them from the water made him realize that the proper term would be sea serpent. The monster towered over the two men, and even though it was two against one, the fight was far from fair. Their swords didn't seem to do much harm and neither man had brought a lance. Their footing was precarious on the slippery rocks with the waves washing around them and pulling at their feet. The serpent kept threatening to snap their heads off and it wouldn't be long till it succeeded. Steve looked aside at Tony, who shrugged.

"Not much I can do here. If my bomb landed on the beach it would hurt them and it would not do much good in the water." He made a tired looking shooing motion at Steve. "Go get them, Tiger."

Steve hesitated, torn between his two duties. Tony frowned at him.

"Seriously, Steve, I'll be here when you get back. I promise I won't run off with any hermits. I'll just take a nap or something.”

"Okay. Just.... Be safe, Tony."

“Yes, mom.” But Tony said it without his usual sarcasm. The bitterness from last night seemed to have worn itself out.

Steve freed up some of the lances Percival's horse carried. He left his shield, because he didn't think it was that suitable for this job and he didn't want to lose it in the waves and have to go diving for it. Tony would look after it for him. Then he loped down the narrow pathway that zig-zagged down the face of the rock.

 

The fight took forever. The serpent kept luring them into deeper water, where it was hard to move and hard to stay on your feet amidst the crashing waves. It would disappear under water whenever it was cornered, but it never actually left. As soon as they'd wade back to shallower water, or try to catch their breath, it would surge back out of the spray and try to take someone's head off. Once, Percival slipped and went under. Weighed down by his chain mail he couldn't get back up and Steve had had to drag him out while Bors held off the oversized snake by himself.

When the thing was finally, _finally_ in the throes of death, it was full on afternoon and the three men could barely lift their lances anymore. They left the carcass on the beach for the screeching gulls and dragged themselves up the cliff path.

“What happened with the horse?” Steve asked Percival, as he struggled up the path before him.

“It was about to take me over the cliff when I crossed myself, “ Percival answered, “Then it shook me off and burst into flame as it went over the edge.”

“Dramatic,” mumbled Steve.

“And then,” said Bors behind him, “The idiot spotted a lion and a serpent fighting on the beach and he decided we had to go help out the lion, because it was a nobler beast.”

“A lion? I didn't see a lion.”

“Must have decided it wasn't worth his while or something.”

Steve shook his head. It wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened on this quest, but he sure was ready to go home to the day to day weirdness he was more familiar with.

Steve was so overjoyed to see Tony waiting for him at the top that he forgot to back off when Tony went to hug him. Before he realized what was happening Tony's arms wrapped around him and he didn't have the will or the heart to break it off.

“You're losing your touch, Cap.” Tony's voice was muffled by his face being pressed into Steve's neck. “That was way too close and it took for-fucking-ever! Way to make me feel useless, you asshole.”

Steve resisted the urge to do something stupid, like take his gauntlet off and caress Tony's hair. Or kiss the top of his head. He couldn't stop himself from holding on a little tighter in response, though.

All of a sudden, Tony pushed back forcefully, disgust on his face. It took Steve a moment to let him go.

“Okay, that's enough. You are gross.”

Right. Steve was covered in serpent guts and soaked in sweat and seawater. He stepped back awkwardly.

"You guys need to wash. And eat," said Tony, looking over all of them, except Steve, whom he was studiously avoiding looking at. "There's a little crag with a fresh water creek and some shrubs a league or so north of here. We should camp there."

Steve nodded his agreement. Percival and Bors were too cold and exhausted to protest, and even Steve was tired. They all just followed Tony like little lambs. Steve couldn't help but wonder what the hell just happened, though. He'd thought Tony was still angry at him, but you didn't hug people you were angry with, except now it seemed like Tony was angry again.

 ***

 ***

It turned out Tony had already made camp at the creek, and a pot full of soup was simmering on a merry little fire. Steve hated the thought that Tony had wandered off by himself and taken care of all this, instead of staying put like he'd wanted him to, but the sight of their camp all set up was too wonderful to consider complaining about it.

"Go wash in the creek," Tony told all of them, "You reek of week old fish guts." Steve groaned just as loudly as Bors and Percival, the idea of exposing himself voluntarily to more cold water was abhorrent, but so was the idea of waking up tomorrow morning covered in dried up gunk. He sighed and dug some soap, a clean tunic and a pair of leggings out of his satchel. Percival dragged himself up from where he had collapsed in the grass to go with Steve, but Steve had to kick Bors in the ass a few times before the man could be made to move. They stripped to their small clothes and washed quickly in one of the deeper pools in the creek. Then Steve rinsed out his clothes and beat them against a rock. He hung them over a branch and he was back in the water, almost done with cleaning his mail, when looked up to see that Tony had joined them. Tony smirked at his surprise.

"I wasn't quite as pungent as you, but I was still ripe. And who knows when the next opportunity for a bath presents itself? Can I borrow your soap?"

Steve held it out to him silently. His mouth had gone dry the second he had spotted Tony's naked torso next to him, water cascading down the rippling muscles. Now he tried to swallow as Tony rose further out of the water to receive the soap. He couldn't make his throat work. The water surface was so low on Tony's hips that Steve had a front seat view of the magnificent V of his hip bones and his water logged happy trail. A passing eddy dipped the water even lower and for a couple of seconds Steve could see the top his pubic hair. He almost groaned. Of course Tony had decided to skinny dip, the man had no modesty at all.

As he handed over the soap their fingers brushed. Steve had to fight down the urge to pull Tony in when that happened. He wanted to plaster himself against that gloriously wet, naked body and bury his face in Tony's neck. To mouth along the ridge of his shoulder and up his neck to finally curl his tongue around his ear, while he placed his hands over the globes of his ass to pull him closer. To press his erection against the V of those hips.

Steve quickly dropped the chain mail on the bank and stepped into deeper water to hide the growing bulge in his small clothes, transparent as they were when they were wet. He didn't avert his eyes though and watched as Tony tried to work the coarse soap into a lather. The arc reactor glinted on the water as he was rubbing vigorously, to little avail.

“Tony! The reactor!”

Tony kept glaring at the soap. “Don't worry, the others are back at the campsite, wrapped in blankets and eating soup.” Steve looked around him in surprise. He hadn't even noticed them leaving.

“Jesus, what is this shit? How do you even wash your hair with this brick?”

Steve turned back to Tony. He couldn't help the fond smile that spread over his face. He loved these little reminders that no matter how tired and weak Tony was right now, he was still the same cranky asshole at heart. It was probably all sorts of wrong that he liked Tony when he was bitchy, but it was so much better than Tony being serious and quiet.

“Come here, I'll do it.” He'd said it before he'd thought it through. And he should have thought it through, because the next thing he knew was that Tony was standing less than two feet away from him, handing him back the soap. Steve imagined he could feel the heat of his body across the gap. He forced himself to focus on the soap. Putting all his effort into it, he had worked up a good lather in no time. Then he stood there a little helplessly, his hands full off foam and a bar of soap in his left, wondering how he was going to avoid...

“Here, gimme the soap,” Tony said as he plucked it out of Steve's hand and then he bowed his head in invitation. It couldn't be helped. Steve groaned inwardly as he dug his hands into Tony's hair. It was long and slippery between his fingers and Tony's skull was firm and warm against the tips. He tried to drown his desire with a semblance of military precision as he worked his way methodically over Tony's head. Tony, the bastard, moaned with pleasure. And it would be easy, it would be so fucking easy to tip Tony's head up and to just swallow that moan straight from his lips. Tony lifted his head, as if he was reading Steve's thoughts, his head pressing back against Steve's hands. Steve reflexively flexed his fingers, cradling the back of it. When Tony's eyes met his it was as if the air was suddenly sucked out of his lungs, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Seconds passed that felt like hours, both of them unmoving. Then Tony slowly lifted one hand.

“You still have some scales...” he whispered, swiping his thumb along the sensitive spot under Steve's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Then Tony curled his fingers around Steve's neck and pulled ever so gently, like a question. Steve could have easily pulled away, there was barely any pressure at all, but at the same time he wasn't sure if he could have even if the whole world would have suddenly gone up in flames. Instead, it was like his body went up into flames as Tony's mouth closed over his. His breath hitched and when the flames died down he felt like he was drowning, Tony's mouth his only lifeline. He couldn't tell who moved first, maybe both of them, but suddenly Tony's body was plastered all against his front and his other arm was wrapped around his waist possessively and Steve had never felt so much bare skin in his life. He couldn't help the moan that escaped him, it was glorious. And then Tony's tongue was in his mouth and things were even better than glorious. His hands slid out of Tony's hair and made a soapy trail along the muscles of his back and Steve reveled in every little dip and bump he felt under his hands. When he reached the swell of Tony's ass it was the most perfect thing he'd ever had his hands on. Then Tony's teeth were on his bottom lip and he reflexively jerked Tony closer. Tony's erection landed hard against his hip, hot despite the coldness of the water, and the pressure of Tony's groin against his own dick shocked him into opening his eyes.

What the hell was he doing?! He pulled away with alacrity.

Tony's eyes flew to his.

“Whoa. Hey. It's alright, Steve. It's fine, everything is fine.”

But everything wasn't fine. The muddled mess of lust and anger and awkward friendship and need, so much need, was far from fine.

“Come on, Steve. Don't shut me out again.” Tony wheedled and he tried to pull him back in again, but Steve wouldn't let him. God, he wanted to, he wanted to wrap himself all around the man, but he couldn't trust himself. He silently shook his head.

“Oh, for chrissakes, Steve. I already know your demon dreams were about me. I don't care! I mean, shit, I care... but -”

That had been the wrong thing to say. Steve felt the blood drain out of his face, knowing that Tony knew.

Instead, he fled.

“Rinse your hair, Tony,” he managed and dunked the man's head forcibly under water. While Tony was spluttering, he made his escape.

 

By the time Tony came back to the camp, Steve was fully dressed and eating soup. It tasted weird, kind of bitter, but it was warm and filling, so he didn't particularly care. It was a small miracle Tony had produced something halfway edible in the first place. Steve couldn't even conceive of how antsy the man must have been to be desperate enough to try his hand at cooking. Percival was already asleep and Bors, who'd have first watch again, was seated against a tree a little ways away, fiddling with his knife and a dead branch. He looked ready to keel over. Tony sat down heavily somewhere beside Steve, and Steve didn't like how labored his breathing was from just that little walk from the creek to the camp. He fought the urge to turn around to check on him and kept his gaze on his bowl.

“ _Are we talking or are we not talking right now? From the way you are staring at your food with your laser eyes, I'm guessing not.”_ Tony said.

 _“We're talking. But not now. It's been a long day.”_ The sooner this day was over, the better.

 _“Oh, great! We're talking!”_ Tony sprawled back on the grass in an overt challenge. Steve gave him a look that he hoped would convey his displeasure. It must have been successful, because Tony shot him his patented smirk in return.

_“I just wanted to say that stopping that little frolic was probably the smart thing to do, seeing as we need to keep you pure. Of body, if not of heart. I hope. At least I'd like to flatter myself that that wasn't me chasing you off. Anyway, it was a sound strategic decision, which is why you're the Captain and I am not, but as a member of this two man team I promise I will double my efforts to make sure you leave this place unsullied.”_

It took Steve a minute to parse what Tony was saying. When he got it he couldn't help but shake his head at how utterly wrong Tony's interpretation was. But since it worked to his advantage and saved Steve from having to explain what had actually been going on in his head, he'd take it. Bless the man for handing him a plausible excuse.

 _“That would be appreciated.”_ He said flatly.

 _“As long as you realize that once we're home, all bets are off.”_ Tony waggled his eyebrows suggestively and a small pool of dread settled in the pit of Steve's stomach. Or was it excitement? Both?

 _“Go to bed, Tony.”_ Steve let some of his frustration bleed through in his voice.

Then he turned to Bors.

“I'll take first watch. Go to sleep and I will wake you in a few hours.”

Bors nodded his gratitude and went to stretch out next to Percival. Good. Bors needed the sleep more than Steve did and Steve needed to sit in silence for a good, long while.

 

When he finally crawled into his bedroll hours later, much colder, but no wiser, Tony scooted close to him and threw an arm around his chest. Steve stiffened and Tony made a frustrated little noise.

“I'm cold, Captain. You're the warmest thing around that won't set me on fire.”

That was true. Steve forced his muscles to relax and fitted his body more closely alongside Tony's. The want was still there, but so was the need for comfort, overwhelmingly so. He still felt a little raw and exposed inside and a bit panicky about what to do about it. He could just take the comfort, couldn't he? Just the comfort and the closeness and nothing else. He let out a shuddery sigh and Tony tightened his arm.

Steve pressed a soft kiss into his hair. He couldn't help it. It was right there and it smelled good and it was Tony.

“I felt that,” Tony complained sleepily.

“Sorry?” tried Steve.

Tony lifted his head a little to get a better look at Steve's face. He shook his head ruefully then dropped it heavily back down.

“You're killing me with the mixed signals, here, dude,” he groused.

Steve rolled onto his side to face Tony and gently cupped his cheek with his hand. Tony's eyes were black pools in the dark of the night.

“Sorry?” Steve said again, brushing his thumb over a cheekbone.

“Steve...” Tony whispered and Steve didn't know if that meant 'stop' or 'please'. Tony might not know either. Comfort, Steve thought, just a little comfort in the middle of the night, in a strange country, in a strange time, after a long and harrowing day.

Steve kissed him softly. There was nothing of their earlier fire in the kiss and Tony didn't press it either. Yet it touched Steve even deeper than the one before. Gentle as it was, -and they were barely moving their lips- it soothed the panic he'd felt for days and filled him with something more warm and hopeful instead. He pulled back before the kiss could turn needy and change the mood. They laid there for a minute, their breaths mingling.

“Well. Shit.” said Tony finally. Steve smiled and rolled onto his back. He wormed his arm under Tony's neck, so he could pull him close. Tony came easily enough.

“Well. _Shit_ ,” Tony repeated.

 


	10. In Which Our Heroes Set Sail and the Monsters Get Bigger

Tony woke up alone. Not just without Steve, no, the whole campsite was deserted, except for the horses. He didn't know whether to groan and roll his eyes, or curse. Where the hell had the fuckers run off to _now_? And more importantly, did they need to be rescued again? He wasn't sure he was up to any high octane rescues right now, not the way his body ached almost continuously. Something mild, say along the lines of shouting: "Shoo! Get thee away, knave!" _That_ he might manage. He shook his head ruefully at how far the mighty had fallen, then rolled out of his bedroll. Only one way to find out where the party was being held.

He took the path along the creek towards the beach and was really glad to see he'd picked the right direction, so he wouldn't have to drag his ass all the way back, wheezing and panting.

It was a domestic little scene he was walking into, with Bors yelling and pointing at Percival and being generally disgusted by everything, even more so than usual, and Steve holding Percival back by the arms. A black boat was floating strangely still in the water behind them, where it should have been bobbing up and down in the surf. A stunning girl with long black hair was standing in the prow, holding her hands out, presumably at Percival. Ah, temptation had come for the man again. Of the female kind, rather than the equine this time.

"But she just wants us come break our fast with her," complained Percival, when Tony had come into earshot. "And I am hungry, aren't you hungry?"

"Not for what _she_ is selling," shouted Bors. "Just because she tells you things, that doesn't make them true."

"How do you know?" Percival seemed genuinely curious.

"In this case," Tony thought he might as well add his two cents, "it's the overly simplified symbolism." Percival didn't get it, but Steve smiled at him, in a way that drove the morning chill right out of Tony's bones. Refusing to let that distract him, he continued. "So far, everything we've met that was black turned out to be evil and everything that was white has been good. Insultingly simplistic, really. As if we're too stupid to handle a little ambiguity. I wonder what would happen if we ever meet a hermit dressed in orange, or if they even make them in any color besides black and white? Heaven forbid we'd be asked to tax our feeble brains."

That had not answered Percy's question, judging by the look of befuddlement on his face, so Tony switched tacks.

"What did you do when the black horse ran away with you?"

"Oh! I crossed myself and it bucked me off and then it burst into flames and went screaming over the cliff."

"Dramatic," conceded Tony and for some reason Steve snorted at that. Ignoring him, he gestured at Percy. "Have you tried crossing yourself in view of this lady?"

"That seems a bit mistrustful."

"So it does. But her boat is black, like the horse. And if it turns out she has no ill intentions, then it won't harm her anyway, right?"

"This is true."

Percival crossed himself and the lady and her boat instantly burst into flames and flew screaming up into the sky. The four men were taken aback by the sudden violence of it.

After a moment Steve let go of Percival's arms.

"Dramatic." Steve offered.

"Verily," said Tony dryly. "Well, that settles that," he said turning to Percival. "She did not have your best interest at heart, my boy."

Before Percival could answer a white boat came sailing up out of nowhere, with a white hermit on board who hailed them.

" _Oh my fucking God,"_ muttered Tony, _"Not another one."_

"Think positive, Tony," came Steve's smiling voice from beside him, "This one has a boat that we can borrow to get to the Grail Island."

The hermit started orating about the Old Religion and the New Religion and the serpent representing the Old Religion and about how the lady in black had apparently been the devil and Tony tuned him out before he'd said more than five sentences. He looked sideways at Steve, who was listening with more or less rapt attention. It was hard to believe the man had kissed him yesterday. Twice. And that it was the second kiss, and not the first, that had him feeling off-kilter today. The first one was easy, that one had been lust, pure and simple, nothing wrong with that. Beautiful, wet, naked man in a river, who would pass up _that_ opportunity? But what the hell had that second one been about? Tony couldn't remember ever having been kissed like that. He could only think of a couple of kisses that weren't let's-have-sex-soon-kisses. There were the not-now-Tony-I'm-busy-pecks he'd often gotten from Pepper and the well-done-boy-kisses, also from Pepper. This kiss had been closest to the latter, but had been entirely different and he just didn't know what it meant. Or what he wanted it to mean. Actually, he had an inkling of the latter, but he should let that rest for now, for the sake of his sanity.

He studied Steve's handsome profile and was struck again with how solid a presence the man had become in his life. As if they were meant to stand side by side to face their adversaries and even life itself, rather than the temporary truces they had had only when shit hit the fan. It was fucked up that they had to take this side trip into hell-with-hermits to really come to appreciate each other, but that was kind of par for the course for Tony. It had taken him a trip to hell-in-Afghanistan to realize there was such a thing as personal responsibility and a trip to hell-through-palladium-poisoning to learn that shutting out the people you loved was always a bad idea. Something Steve still had to learn, obviously, with the way he'd gone inside his own head in the last week or so. Tony felt a little smug at being ahead there, for about a nanosecond, until he realized that Steve was light years ahead of him in the personal responsibility department. Well, that's why they made a good couple, they complemented each other.

Then he had a mild conniption at the implications of using the word 'couple' without feeling an immediate need for disclaimers. And he felt the blood rise to his face when he remembered the nature of that second kiss. That had been... Oh dear lord.... It was so new that it was barely even there, but at the same time he didn't think he'd be able to uproot it even if he wanted to. If he were home, he would have run, not walked, to his workshop right now to lose himself in circuitry designs until he'd managed to forget how fucking awkward it felt to be the Tony Stark part of a couple.

That was the moment Steve elbowed him in the side and urged him to come on. Tony blinked and took in the scene at the beach. The hermit had vanished, as they were wont to do, but the ship was still there, patiently waiting. Apparently they were to use it.

The campsite was quickly packed up and Bors made arrangements for the horses at a nearby farm and then they embarked. Once they were on board the ship started to move all by itself, because, of course, it was a fucking magic ship, but Tony couldn't even spare that a curse or two. He looked at Steve stowing away their gear and wondered if he was going to feel this surge of warmth every time he caught sight of him.  

 ***

 ***

Sailing a magic ship was a little boring, since there wasn't much to do and Tony found himself near the prow, leaning on the railing watching the smudge on the horizon that he assumed was their destination. The good news was that the Grail seemed to definitely be on this island and they wouldn't have to go island hopping along the Scottish coast. The way his heart was pounding in his chest right now even when he wasn't doing anything made it very doubtful he would survive that kind of extension of the trip. The bad news was that they still weren't a hundred percent sure the Grail would be their way home. Tony really didn't want to think about what would happen if it wasn't. He told himself firmly it was their best bet right now and he'd worry about other solutions when it was necessary. Not that there would many options for Tony at that point, but at least Steve would still have a shot and Tony would stick with him till the bitter end. And bitter it would be.

"A penny for your thoughts." Steve leaned on railing next to him, shoulders touching. Tony felt something settle inside him immediately, as if the world was just a little more right when Steve was standing next to him. It scared the crap out of him.

"Even considering what money is worth in this day and age, I am insulted by how little value you think my thoughts have."

"But you have so many of them, Tony, they've got to be a dime a dozen, tops."

"That's even less than a penny per thought."

"I don't get a bulk discount? Or a friends and family discount?"

"How about a trade? A thought for a thought? Or are yours worth more? You've been mighty stingy with them lately."

Steve just stared at the water and Tony sighed in frustration.

"You know, this clamming up thing is very unattractive. I already know you're a bit of drama queen inside your head, Steve, you don't have to be so stoic about it."

"Stoic?" Steve snorted. "Pot, Kettle."

"I'm not stoic, I emote all the time."

"You talk a lot, but you're not necessarily saying anything that is important to you. You obfuscate with words, Tony. I just don't talk. You hide too, though. When's the last time you shared something really personal?"

Tony turned around slowly, so he was leaning with his back against the railing. Now he could look Steve in the face.

"Besides my therapist, you're the only person I have ever told that shit about my father."

Steve looked pained. "Okay. Fair enough. I take that back." He paused, then added, decidedly not looking at Tony: "I'm sorry about shutting you out. It was.... I was ashamed of how depraved my mind apparently is. I didn't want you to find out."

Tony studied the faraway look on his face. He obviously still didn't want Tony to know, and Tony could respect that. Or he could not, because, honestly, how bad could it be?

"Did it involve vomit, diapers, animal suits or me wearing a leash and collar and ass-less chaps 24/7?"

Shock spread over Steve's face.

Oh, blessed innocence.

"What? No!"

"None of those? Well, then, whatever it was, it's negotiable."

Steve looked like he might be choking. "But you don't know-"

"Don't matter. I've done enough kinky stuff that I know that those are my hard limits. Everything else is negotiable. Not promising I'm gonna do whatever, but I promise I'll consider it."

It was fun watching Steve trying to wrap his brain around that concept. He was trying to do that stoic face thing, but Tony had grown so familiar with it in the last week or so, he could see the little tell tale twitches that betrayed the internal struggle going on. He smirked at Steve and that made his face twitch worse. Then Tony figured he should ask now that Steve was still off balance. His chances of an actual answer might be better that way, dick move that it might be.

"So. Tell me what that kiss last night was about."

Steve blushed and looked down at his hands, which had a white knuckled grip on the railing. He hesitated so long that Tony had to fight down disappointment.

"Comfort," came the answer finally.

Tony burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. "Comfort? Really? Well, you're probably the first person in the history of ever to turn to Tony Stark for comfort."

He cut off abruptly when Steve stepped into his personal space and looked down at him. Tony suddenly felt short of breath and his heart skipped a beat.

"Not my fault if everyone else is wrong." Steve said softly, but deadly serious. Tony had no answer. He wanted to avert his eyes, but found that he couldn't. He was at once highly uncomfortable, yet completely elated. Steve's closeness charged the air Tony was trying, but somehow failing, to breathe. Then Steve leaned in. Tony should have pushed him away. He should have insisted that Steve was delusional and that he should come to his senses. But apparently Tony had lost his senses as well, because he did none of that and instead parted his lips under Steve's and welcomed the exploring tongue. Warmth washed through him and before he realized what he was doing, he had stepped closer and was being wrapped in Steve's arms. Despite the discomfort of being pressed against chain mail, and despite the fears he'd been struggling with not even ten minutes ago Tony knew what Steve had meant about comfort. Somehow, everything was right in the world right now. Never better. The feeling lingered when Steve broke the kiss and leaned back to look at him, and Tony was inexplicably still out of witty comebacks.

"Tony..." Steve began, but Tony never got to hear the end of that sentence because all of a sudden Bors and Percival started yelling at the other side of the boat.

As they came running across the deck, it was obvious what was wrong. Next to the ship a serpent had come rearing out of the water. It was twice as large and twice as pissed as the one they had dispatched yesterday, and Tony wondered for a fleeting second if this was mommy serpent. It was ugly and vicious and it smelled like briny death.

"Grab the lances!" Steve yelled, "Go for the gills, that's where it's vulnerable." Bors and Percival scrambled off to go fetch them. The serpent bellowed and Tony could see all the way back beyond its yellow rows of teeth into the black depths of its throat.

"Looks like the Old Religion is spitting mad about that newfangled shit," Tony yelled at Steve over the howls of the monster.

Steve nodded grimly. "Just do me a favor, Tony. Stay out of the way. You don't have mail and no weapons and you're not healthy and I can't focus if I am worried that thing is going to have you for breakfast."

"As if a few pointy sticks are going to stop if from having _you_ for breakfast!"

The serpent suddenly threw itself at the ship as if it were trying get on board and Steve slammed it in the face with his shield. Tony jumped back as Bors and Percival came running up with the lances. Again, the beast launched forward and Steve hit it again and both of the knights aimed their lances at the gills. They missed because the serpent crashed against the side of the boat and everybody lost their footing during the shock of the impact. Water gushed over the deck as the ship listed precariously, being dragged down by the huge body sliding back into the water. The ship had barely righted itself before it came again. Tony estimated that the beast's diameter was at least five feet and he couldn't even guess how long it was. It seemed hell bent on getting itself onto the ship somehow.

Again and again it came. The deck became slippery with water, blood and serpent guts as the men fought to throw it back into the sea time and again. They had cut chunks out of it and one of the lances had got stuck behind one of the fins, until the next attack shattered it under the beast's weight as it hit the deck. Still, it didn't seem to slow down. Tony had to hold on the mast as the ship rocked side to side with the shifting weights and once he had to grab Bors by his arm as he came flying by on his way to certain death at the other side of the railing. The normally ruddy man was white as a sheet as he grabbed Tony's forearm in a silent thank you. Then Steve yelled for him to get his ass back in there and he scrambled back onto his feet and went.

It wasn't until the next push that Tony figured out what the serpent was trying to do. The angle had seemed off this whole time, as if the monster wasn't trying to get _on_ board but rather like it was trying to jump _over_ the entire thing. But that didn't make sense, until Tony spotted the serpent's tail in the water on the other side of the ship and then he realized it wasn't trying to go over the ship, it was trying to wrap itself _around_ the ship.

And then crush it to pieces.

Unfortunately, that was the moment the serpent managed to accomplish the first part of the plan. The three knights stood panting and stared at the fallen tree of flesh stretched taut across the deck, the head and its vulnerable gills safely back under the water on the other side.

"Hack it!" yelled Tony. "Sever its spine! It's going to-"

He was cut off as the serpent flexed and the ship groaned under the pressure of its tightening body. As one, the men ran for their swords. Tony ran too. It was going to be too slow. They would never be able to cut through that much sinewy muscle before the boat was reduced to matchsticks. Not even if Steve unleashed all his super powered anger on it, it wasn't going to work. He dove for the bag with his armor in it. One gauntlet, he just needed one gauntlet to work for about a minute. Surely the reactor had enough juice for that?

He wrestled with the knots on the bag as the sound of splintering wood came from behind him. Hopefully that had just been the banisters or something and he still had time. He heard the other men heaving and grunting as their swords cut into flesh with squilchy wet thwacks over and over. Another heave and more creaking and splintering. The bag was open now and Tony pulled out the armor's left arm. Thank god he didn't need to adjust much, because there just wasn't time. He yanked the gauntlet on and peeled a bit of wiring loose with his right thumbnail. Pulling open his tunic he ran back to the impromptu fish abattoir. He pushed Percival aside and jammed the wire straight into the reactor, firing up the repulsor before he even had the connection made.

"Tony! No!" Steve's voice was frantic. "For God's sake, _Tony!_ "

It was the last thing he heard. The repulsor flashed to life and cut right through sinew, muscle, blubber and the fucker's spine. But before he could crow in triumph, he saw the tail of the monster come flying out of the water, straight at him. It was like looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, though, as if it were coming through a mile long tunnel, that was narrowing quickly. He lost consciousness before it even hit him.

 


	11. In Which Sir Stephen Carries a Burden and Begs a Boon

Steve hadn't hesitated. As soon as Tony had been bludgeoned overboard with a sickening thwack, by the tail of the serpent, Steve had slapped the shield onto his back and had dove in after him. Even though the monster was obviously dead, thanks to the self sacrificing, irresponsible idiot he was now trying to find in the murky water, he'd seen Tony's eyes roll up before he even got hit, so he knew the man wouldn't be able to swim. The visibility was crap and he had no clue if Tony was still holding onto the armor's gauntlet and therefore sinking fast or if he'd still be relatively close to the surface. The air was burning in Steve's lungs but he didn't bother going up for air. If he could survive 70 years without breathing while stuck in ice, he could survive fifteen minutes without air in water.

It felt as if he'd searched the same bit of sea for hours, but it really couldn't have been more than minutes -he hoped it hadn't been more than minutes or Tony would already be dead- when he finally spotted a glint of red and gold off to his left and a little above him. It was the gauntlet. To Steve's eternal relief Tony was still attached to it. He grabbed him by the collar and started going up. It was much, much harder than going down. He almost wished he'd taken the time to take off his chain mail before jumping in after Tony. Gritting his teeth, he struggled upward. With a great gasp of air he finally broke the surface. He looked around them. The ship was almost out of sight. No longer weighed down by the serpent it had continued on its way at a rapid clip and there wasn't a chance in hell Steve could overtake it, weighed down as he was. His only option was to swim to land, which looked to be a few miles away at least. He looked at Tony, who was pale and wan in the light of the cloudy afternoon, but he couldn't tell if the man was breathing or not. It couldn't be helped. He allowed himself one sigh of frustration and then he started swimming with Tony in the rescue hold.

Now the hours passed like days. Every minute or two Steve stopped and forced a few breaths into Tony through mouth to mouth, just in case. Their progress was agonizingly slow as they crossed swell after swell, an endless monotony of up and down in the cold gray water. Steve prayed they would make it before it got dark. He didn't give much for their chance of navigating through the no doubt rocky swells after the sun went down.

He was right about the rocks. In the end, he had to follow the coast for another half a mile or so before he spotted a small stony beach that would allow them to make landfall. Dragging both of them through the pounding surf that did its best to pull them back out to sea was the hardest thing he'd done that day. Considering the swim he just completed and the serpent he'd fought, that was a fitting testimony to his exhaustion. When they'd made it, he lay gasping in the evening light, grateful for every rock that was stabbing him in the back, but he only allowed himself a brief minute. As soon as he'd caught his breath he rolled over and frantically sought for Tony's pulse. His skin was cold as death. God, let him be alive. He needed Tony to be alive...

He bit back a sob when he felt a faint flutter under his fingertips. Rolling Tony onto his side, he watched a bit of water spill out of his mouth and nose, then he rolled him back onto his back and started giving him mouth to mouth again. A few breaths into it Tony started choking and flailing and Steve rolled him over again. Tony vomited up great gushes of water and bile and then he opened his eyes. He managed a weak "Steve?" before he passed out again. This time he was breathing for real, though he was wheezing and rattling alarmingly.

Steve looked up with trepidation to the top of the cliffs that embraced their patch of rocky beach. They had to get out of here. There was no other choice. If they spent the night here, on this beach, in their soaking wet clothes, Tony would still die. Of hypothermia rather than drowning, but the end result would be the same. He had no idea what the tide was doing, but there was a chance there wouldn't even be a beach in a few hours. He hoisted Tony's wet, grit covered body up over his shoulder and staggered towards the wall of rock. Someway, somehow, he was going to climb that rock wall with Tony in his arms. He didn't know how, just that he would find a way.

It turned out he didn't have to. Hidden behind a boulder was a path that went up a crag in the rocks. Steve wanted to weep with relief. A path meant there was something at the other end. Shelter of some sort. And shelter meant dryness and warmth. He prayed it would be more than an abandoned barn. Clothes, food and fire was what they needed. He picked his way carefully along the path, the evening shadows heavy and foreboding.

 

The shelter he found along the path wasn't perfect, but it beat abandoned barns by a mile. It was a small hut that shepherds used when they got caught by inclement weather. The sheep pen was empty and so was the hut, but there was a small fireplace and some logs, there was a, no doubt flea ridden, straw mattress and a few other odds and ends. He deposited Tony on the mattress and started a fire, then he went back outside to get fresh water out of the rain barrel. The small space heated up quickly and he peeled Tony's wet clothes off to hang them to dry on one of the low ceiling beams. He poured a little water down Tony's throat, which was swallowed reflexively, but the man didn't wake up. It was just as well. Tony's right thigh was bruised all to hell and there was a gash in the middle of the swollen skin that was still wet with blood. The femur didn't look obviously broken, but Steve had seen enough broken bones on the battlefield to suspect there were hairline fractures at least. He'd have to splint it when the swelling had gone down a bit. He cleaned the wound carefully with rain water and a strip of cloth he had ripped from his tunic, then rinsed the cloth out again and tied it loosely around the thigh to prevent dirt sticking to the exposed flesh. Tony flinched when he touched the wound, but didn't otherwise react.

Steve sat back on his haunches and watched Tony's labored breathing. The arc reactor was barely giving off any light and it seemed to dim a bit with every exhale. He wracked his brain about what else he could do to make sure Tony would survive, to make sure he would wake up tomorrow morning ready to bitch at Steve about the accommodations or some other inane issue. But there was nothing else he could think of doing right now and it scared the shit out of him that it might not be enough, that Tony might _not_ wake up. He looked so fucking fragile and beat up, pale even in the firelight. With a shuddering breath he pulled himself together. He hung his own clothes next to Tony's. He really should have rinsed the salt out of them before he did so, but the pull of exhaustion was too strong. He carefully laid himself next to Tony, making sure not to jostle him and fell asleep instantly.

 

Tony's shivering woke him up several hours before dawn. The hut was warm and Tony himself was burning up, yet he shivered. Fever. Steve swallowed down the dread that rose like bile in his throat and wrapped himself around Tony. Tony whimpered and tried to burrow deeper into Steve's warmth and Steve was happy to let him, happy there was something he could do.

 

A knock on the door woke him up at dawn. He hastily disentangled himself from Tony, dragged down his still damp tunic and pulled it on, grimacing at the salty tackiness of it. Standing outside was a hermit. A lady hermit, this time.

"Sir Stephen, you must make haste and continue your journey to Castle Corbenic. Your traveling companions have not managed to lift the curse on this land, and you are much needed." She gestured around her, and in the light of day it was obvious something was wrong here. The grass was dead as far as the eyes could see and there was no sign of life. It was eerily silent, just the wind rustling in the grass, and the waves crashing in the distance with not even the cries of seagulls to break the monotony.

"What's wrong with this place?"

"The king is ailing and as long as he is incapacitated, the land cannot thrive. You must make haste."

"I'm sorry, but I can't right now. My companion is too ill to move."

She peered into the hut.

"You know he is not worthy." She said it as if she was sorry and not like she was condemning Tony, but it still irked Steve.

"With all due respect, Ma'am." He knew his voice was curt and anything but respectful, "But if he is not worthy, then your definition of worthy is too narrow. He is one of the best men I know."

She studied his face. "You care for him."

"Yes."

"Then he cannot be all bad." She came inside and looked Tony over. "I can't do much for him. The infection has taken hold and he will have to fight his way through it. But I can give you garlic and yarrow for the wound and willow bark for fever."

Steve nodded gratefully. She showed him how to make the poultices and the willow bark tea. The tea was bitter and Tony didn't like it, but he drank it all the same when Steve woke him up and ordered him to. Before she vanished, the hermit left him with directions (keep walking south west for half a week) and the renewed plea to make haste. Steve nodded his assent and when he turned back he was surprised to see Tony was still awake. His eyes were gleaming and his face was flushed with fever, and he was staring at Steve as if he couldn't quite believe he was there.

"Well. I feel like complete and utter crap." His voice was barely a whisper. "I take it I am not dead then."

"Not for lack of trying," answered Steve. He was still a little pissed about the stunt with the repulsor, but it was hard to be angry with someone who was this miserable.

"I can't remember a whole lot, but that sounds like me," admitted Tony. "Why is everything itchy on top of being massively painful?"

"Probably a combination of salt water and hay mites. Possibly bedbugs. I can get rid of the salt water if you want."

"Yeah, okay." Tony sounded exhausted again already.

Steve got more water from the rain barrel and used it to carefully wipe away the salt and grime on Tony's body and he rinsed his hair. Then he washed himself and their clothes and he cooked some of the grains that were left in a jar on one of the storage shelves into a mush that Tony refused to eat no matter how much Captain America Steve put into his voice. So he made Tony more tea and ate the mush himself.

By night time Tony's fever was going up again, despite the willow bark and his heartbeat was erratic. He wrapped himself around Tony again that night when he shivered and applied cold compresses when he sweated. He had bittersweet memories of his mother doing the same for him when he was a kid. He figured she must have felt the same kind of helplessness, watching him struggle for breath.

They couldn't stay here. Tony had been weakening rapidly even before all this and the arc reactor could stop any moment. They had to get home, where there were hospitals and antibiotics and most of all, a spare reactor. Steve decided they'd have to leave in the morning.

 ***

 ***

At daybreak Steve splinted the leg as well as he knew how. Tony bitched and cursed through the entire process, but didn't argue that it was time to go. Steve strapped the shield to his front and then offered Tony a piggyback ride.

"This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch, isn't it?" rasped Tony.

"Probably," admitted Steve. "But you can't walk. We can try other options, but this seems the most practical one."

Tony flung his arms around Steve's neck and his breath hitched when Steve grabbed him under his knees, but he didn't say a thing. Instead he had a coughing fit right by Steve's ear.

"Oh, that's lovely," deadpanned Steve. He started walking.

"Anything for you, doll." Tony's voice was barely above whisper.

"Save your breath, Tony." _And your strength._

 

The land they passed through was deserted. No people, no animals, barely any vegetation. The houses were empty. It was unsettling at first, but as the hours dragged on it just became dull. They took frequent breaks to ease Tony's leg and to have him drink water, which was plentiful, fortunately. About mid morning they passed by an orchard. The apples that should have just been starting to ripen were old and wrinkled instead. They had to be last year's crop. Steve got some anyway, because the hunger was gnawing in his belly. He tried to feed Tony some apple mush, but Tony said his throat was too sore to eat and he wasn't hungry anyway. Feed a cold, starve a fever, so Steve didn't push.

When they continue on their way he started talking about the time Bucky got caught stealing apples from a cart. When Tony hummed in acknowledgment, he kept talking, relating the shenanigans the two of them got up to during the Depression. They were happy memories and they took his mind off the miles that passed under his feet. After the next time they had to stop, because Tony was starting to lose sensation in his hands and feet and Steve had to rub them to keep the circulation going, he started talking about how his mother used to do that for him and then he found he couldn't stop. He talked about their moldy apartment, her struggles to make ends meet, her death, the orphanage, his frustrations with his frail body. He talked about how lost he had felt since he woke up from the ice, and how much worse it was when he got transferred here. He talked until the sun was low in the sky and he had to start looking for an empty house to stay the night in.

"I am trying to decide," Tony suddenly croaked by his ear, "if you think I am so out of it that I am not going to remember anything you said or if you are going claim I must have been delirious if I ever dare to refer to what you've been telling me."

Steve smiled. "Maybe I just want you to know this stuff, Tony."

"Oh yeah. Because I am comfortable. I mean... comforting... Something."

Steve couldn't help but laugh, for the first time in days. "You're something, alright."

"Don't laugh. The shaking hurts my head."

Steve subsided immediately.

 ***

 ***

The night was bad again. The fever flared higher and Tony complained of numbness in all his extremities. A few times the arc reactor got so dim Steve was certain it had stopped altogether, but every time it flickered back to life after a minute or so. Tony's heartbeat was all over the place while that happened. The next morning he was barely coherent. There was no talking as they walked that day. The roads were getting wider and they'd passed a village or two, so at least they seemed to be heading in the direction of something important. By mid-morning Tony was delirious, seeing enemies everywhere. His jerky evasive maneuvers had Steve almost lose his balance a few times. He picked up the pace as much as he could, worry clawing at his insides. He'd run if he thought Tony would be able to hold on, but the grip around his neck often went so slack that he was already stooping to prevent him from falling off.

By noon Tony couldn't hold on at all anymore and Steve shifted the shield to his back and carried Tony bridal style. It was at once easier and more difficult. Easier because he had a better grip on him and he could go faster, but more difficult because he could see the grimaces of pain passing on Tony's face with every step he took and the clammy, sallow skin under the blush of the fever. The arc reactor had barely any color to it and Tony's breath was fluttery and uneven. The worry became dread. Tony was going to die in his arms if they didn't get to that Grail today. The thought was unbearable, so he pushed it away and focused on finding a gait that was both fast and didn't jostle Tony too much. He ended up with some kind of loping half run that ate up the miles.

 

It was late afternoon when he crested a hill and could see another sea at the horizon. They had crossed the Isle of Man more or less diagonally, it appeared. In the distance he could see a small village and right off the coast was a small island, with a castle on it. That had to be it. Please, God, it _had_ to be the right place.

"Hold on, Tony. We're almost there. Don't you dare die on me now."

Tony whimpered, which Steve took to mean: "Just hurry the fuck up, asswipe."

He nodded grimly and took off again.

It took him another hour to reach the village. It was deserted like all the others, so Steve went right through it to the coast. He started looking around for a boat when he noticed the tide had fallen and exposed a narrow land bridge. Thanking the stars, he crossed quickly through the squelchy sand and made his way up some stone stairs into the castle, leaving muddy footprints behind. There was no one at the gate, so he went inside. A few torches were lit along the hallways, though, and he followed the main one to what he assumed must be the center of the castle. He had no hands free, so when he came to a set of double doors, he kicked them open.

After the dead and dreary landscape he had traveled through for the last two days the opulence of the chamber in front of him hit him like a hammer. The room was so warm the rich tapestries on the walls and the golden candlesticks on the table shimmered in the heat, the smell of roast meat made his mouth water and someone, somewhere was playing a lute. It was like he'd stepped into a different world. It took him a moment to realize that he was being hailed by the two men sitting at the table. Percival was waving a pheasant leg at him and Bors was jumping up exclaiming his disbelief about them having survived. But Steve paid them no attention. Because on the other side of the hall a small procession of veiled women was about to leave the room. One was carrying a candelabra, one a broken sword and one was carrying a lance that looked like it was bleeding. The one in back, though, was holding something that glowed a pulsing blue.

"Wait!" Steve yelled, desperate. "Don't leave! Where are you going with that Grail?!"

The lute stopped playing and it was as if the room itself held its breath.

"That was it!" said Percival in the sudden silence. "That was the question we were supposed to ask. I _told_ you there was a question." The last bit was meant for Bors, who just rolled his eyes at him.

The women turned around. The one bearing the Grail approached them slowly.

"Thank you, Sir Stephen," she said softly. "Thank you for asking the question that will allow the Grail to heal the king and heal the land."

"You're welcome," said Steve, pained. "That is wonderful, but please, I need it first." He said down heavily on a chair, unable to hold himself up any longer, Tony cradled in his arms. "Please, milady, he's dying." His voice broke on the last word.

The woman considered him gravely, then nodded. She held the blue shimmering shape high and at the same time Tony seemed to come to. There was no recognition in his eyes, they were as empty as a doll's, but he reached out a hand to the ball of light and it expanded. The room seemed to fade away, washed away in blue, and Steve buried his face in Tony's neck and held on for dear life.

 ***

 ***

He landed on his ass on a rug still holding Tony. He shielded him as best he could from the shock of the impact, but it must have jarred the broken leg, because Tony gave a sudden gasp. Shit. He scrambled upright to assess the damage and was confronted with the sight of a couch full of open-mouthed Avengers who obviously had not expected them to turn up in their living room all of a sudden.

"Who the hell.... Oh my God! That's Cap! Tony did it. He brought him back. You owe me fifty bucks, Nat!" Clint exclaimed.

Sam started cheering and Thor was pounding Bruce on the back and bellowing in the man's ear.

"Quiet!" yelled Steve over the pandemonium. The silence was instantaneous.

"Nat, go fetch a spare arc reactor from Tony's lab. JARVIS, show her where it is and disable all the security on it. Bruce, get him an antibiotics shot _now_ and whatever else you think might possibly help and Clint, fire up the quinjet for a medevac. Tony's dying."

Steve watched with a smidgen of pride as his team sprung into action, Natasha vaulting over the back of the couch and the other men taking off running. He cradled Tony closer, willing him to keep breathing while they rushed to save him. Looking at the room he was in and the familiar things he'd thought he'd never see again, he thought he held it all together pretty good. Until Sam kneeled next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey man, you alright?"

Then he cried.

 


	12. In Which Tony yells at Steve

 Pepper's heels on the tile floor of Stark Tower did an excellent job of letting Tony know just how angry she was. Tony wished he could mimic the staccato aggression with his crutches, but the rubber anti-slip booties it had on the end of the sticks thwarted that. And they hadn't even given him a walking cast yet, so he couldn't get aggressive with that either. Apparently the doctors were afraid that the serpent slime could still turn gangrenous or something and they wanted free access to the leg, so no cast for Tony, just some brace type thing.

"You were not cleared to leave the hospital, Tony. One of these days you are going to stop making me complicit in all those harebrained schemes that end with you nearly killing yourself."

“I am not even half as dead as I was two weeks ago, Pep. I am a paragon of health, relatively speaking."

He paused at the door of the common room and looked at her. Her lips were thin and tense.

"JARVIS, get the door." It swooshed open. As he went to go in, he added, loud enough for her and anyone else inside to hear:

"If Mohammed ain't coming to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Mohammed."

Heads turned as Tony did a quick survey of the room. All were accounted for, but the object of his wrath was standing by the kitchen counter, wearing a soft looking pair of sweats and an obnoxiously tight t-shirt that showed off all the massive muscles Tony had been deprived off recently. His hair was cut short again. When he turned around and spotted Tony his face did a happy-concerned-shuttered thing that Tony hated. He started forward on his crutches but was immediately waylaid by Bruce.

“Tony. You weren't going to be released till Thursday!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Thursday, Tuesday. Potato, potahto.”

“It's Sunday. You can still lose that leg.”

“Simmer down, Bruce. I am not going to lose the fucking leg. If I was going to, I would have done it last week, while I was still unconscious.” Tony glared at him and Bruce stepped out of his way with his hands up and an 'it's your funeral' look on his face. Fucking right it was.

“What's going on?” he heard Sam ask somewhere behind him.

“Tony's not happy with the visitation schedule,” said Pepper blandly.

“What's wrong with the visitation schedule? There's always someone there. To make sure he wouldn't check himself out, I was told. By _you_.” The man sounded genuinely surprised. Which meant Steve hadn't said anything to him. Well, this was just getting better and better.

“You'll see,“ came Pepper again. She had been sympathetic to Tony's story, which is why she had allowed him to leave the hospital in the first place, he knew, although she had much rather he'd have waited for his official release. It sounded like she was settling in to watch now and wasn't planning on interfering.

Tony had reached Steve, who had drawn himself upright and had watched him come closer with super stoic face. Tony felt at a distinct disadvantage, being shorter and so much weaker and with the bum leg on top of that.

“Dear Captain. Would you care to explain to me why, after all we've been through, I haven't seen you since we got back?”

“I've been to see you.”

“I know. The nurse told me. You spent all day every day by my bed while I was in that coma and everyday since, but _not_ when I am awake. Which is why I phrased it that way. I haven't seen _you_ , because you only come to see _me_ when I am asleep.” Tony paused and looked at the peanut gallery.

“And, by the way, which one of you fucktards introduced him to the Edward Cullen School of Creepy Romance? Barton?”

Clint silently pointed at Thor. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Twilight is a most popular tale among the people of Midgard!” Thor defended himself. He looked at Natasha for support. “It has mighty wolf men warriors and dazzling undead! It has epic battles and....”, but Natasha wasn't listening, her focus on Tony.

“Did you say romance?” she inquired sharply. Clint grinned and crossed his arms, leaning back into the couch.

“I am getting the feeling the good Captain left out a few parts of the story,” he said with an air of smug satisfaction. “Please, continue. This is fascinating.”

Tony turned back to Steve.

“Care to explain?”

Steve sighed. “I needed to see you.”

“I can relate to that. Any reason you couldn't do that while I was awake? So I'd get to see you in return?”

Steve looked off to the side, unhappy twist around his mouth. He didn't answer.

“Seriously? What the fuck, Steve? What the hell kind of fucked up story are you telling yourself in your head? Why on earth would you think I wouldn't want to see you? Did we not just spent a month in each other's pockets under unbearably primitive circumstances? I saved your life, you saved my life, all that shit?”

“But that's just it, isn't it?” Steve's voice was tense, heat smoldering in his eyes and Tony had to wrench his mind back from going to inappropriate places. “Now we're back and you've got all this back,” He gestured at everything around them, “and your friends and JARVIS and your fame and your workshop and your.... _coffee_. Why would you even....? You didn't want to come rescue me, Tony. You thought I hated you. They told me.”

Tony wanted to face palm, but he had no hands free. He settled for groaning in frustration instead.

“I didn't think you hated me! I just didn't think you _liked_ me. If I remember correctly,” and he glared at his teammates, because what the fuck had they been telling Steve and why even mention that awkward episode at all? “If I remember correctly, I expressed violent disbelief that you would dislike me more than you liked Sam or Natasha, because I thought I knew you couldn't possibly like me more than them.”

“That doesn't mean I didn't _like_ you. I just liked you... differently.”

“Like you want to throttle me, and fuck me, at the same time? And maybe hug me after? Yeah, I know the feeling, Cap.” Oh, how Tony knew that feeling. There was a gasp from the spectators. Steve went beet red, but Tony didn't miss the way his breath sped up and his lips parted.

Steve frowned at Tony, despite that. “Must you be so crass? That wasn't all it was and you know it!”

“That isn't all it is, _now!_ After all we went through, don't you think I know it's more than that? And you thought... _what_ , exactly?” Exasperation was bleeding through. “You'd pretend that nothing happened so that I could pretend that nothing happened and I could go back to my regular scheduled life? That I would just stop feeling the way I feel about you? You thought I wanted out? Or did you want out yourself?”

“I... No!”

“Then what the hell were you thinking?! You convinced yourself I wanted no part of you and you told nobody what happened between us and you were doing _what_? Just pining in silence? Torturing yourself watching me sleep?”

Steve stared at the floor.

“Actually, he had me download Patsy Cline for him,” offered Sam. “He was pining with a soundtrack.”

Tony frowned. “I had pegged you more for an Enya kind of guy, Sam.”

“You know how he is, man, still struggling to catch up. He's not ready for Enya. I'm thinking Adele should be next, maybe.”

“He's not going to need Adele.”

“Good.” Sam paused. “Don't fuck this up, man.”

“Steve,” Tony said. “Steve, look at me.”

Steve lifted his head slowly, determination evident in the shape of his mouth. He was bracing himself, Tony could tell. And rightfully so.

“You gotta stop doing this.”

“Doing what?” The voice was flat.

“You gotta stop making unilateral decisions based on what you think I am thinking without talking to me. I thought that'd be obvious after you didn't speak to me for a week for no reason after I'd pulled you out of the Cave of Sinners.”

“The Cave of _what_?” That was Clint, of course. “I didn't hear that story. Did you hear that story?”

“I did have a reason.”

“You had a stupid reason! One that assumed that you knew what I was thinking. Which you _didn't_. And which you don't now! When you need to know what I think, you need to fucking talk to me, not decide what is best for me all by yourself. I hate it when people think they know what is best for me." Tony paused for breath, then barreled on. "If this relationship is to work you have to stop retreating into your own head."

"Are we in a relationship?" Steve sounded a little stunned. Why the hell was he surprised? He was the one who had started it with all the touching and the kissing and making Tony fall for him.

"Honestly, Steve, I don't know what-"

"Can we skip the part where you say a whole bunch of words that add up to nothing?"

Ouch. Okay.

"Fine. Then yes, as far as I am concerned, we are." He felt a brief moment of panic that Steve, maybe, possibly, didn't feel that way about Tony at all. That he'd read it all wrong.

There was cheering from the couch and Steve's sudden smile was blinding. It made Tony feel a little woozy and unsteady. The crutches might have wobbled a bit, but then Steve was there with his hands on Tony's hips and he didn't need the goddamn crutches anymore to stay upright. So he dropped them and grabbed a hold of Steve. He tried pulling him in, but Steve was looking pointedly over Tony's shoulder at their audience.

“Right,” said Pepper decisively. “Time to go back to work. Sam, why don't you come with me, R&D wants to pick your brain about the redesign of the Falcon wings.”

“Wait! What?” Tony whirled around and lost his balance. Fortunately, he had a very sturdy boyfriend to catch him and keep him propped up. He leaned into Steve and felt a thorough sense of satisfaction as Steve's arm slipped around his waist.

“Preliminary specs only.” Pepper smiled at him sweetly. “Now that you're back, I'm sure you'll be able to get your grubby little hands all over them soon.” Tony didn't trust that smile.

“Sam, don't sign off on anything until I've seen it!”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Sam swore solemnly. Then he winked at Steve and followed Pepper out.

“Come on, Clint, let's go spar.” Natasha held out her hand to Hawkeye. Who didn't budge.

“Why would I do that? You beat my ass every single time.”

“Which means you need more practice.”

“Or! Or I could stay here, avoid a disturbing amount of pain and mentally record what's going to happen here for my spank bank. Or I could physically record it and put it... Ouch! Goddammit, Thor, I am not a kitten! Put me down!”

Bruce wandered over and very pointedly ignored Tony.

“Get him off his feet as soon as you can, Cap. He is not ready to be up this long and that leg needs rest.” Then he patted Steve on the shoulder, tried to frown at Tony, but smirked instead. Shaking his head he walked away, muttering. “Only you, Tony. Only you.”

 

When they had all left, Tony turned back to Steve.

“Okay, Now that we are alone.... I'll admit I need to get off this leg.”

Steve lifted him in one fell swoop and ignored Tony's pointing at the couch. Instead he carried him all the way to Tony's bedroom and, God, he had missed that bed. Hospital beds sucked. Steve deposited Tony carefully. When he tried to straighten up, Tony pulled him down next to him. Steve obliged, but he wasn't looking happy.

“What's wrong?”

“Carrying you is not a happy memory. Mercy, Tony, I was so scared you were going to die in my arms.”

“How long? That bit is really hazy.”

“Two days. Longest days of my life.”

“Wow... You carried me for two _days_? You're such a brick shithouse, Rogers.”

Steve snorted. “ _That's_ your comment when I tell you about those horrible days? And you want me to talk to you _more_?”

“Enough talking for one day. Let's not go crazy with this communication shit all of a sudden.”

“Right. I should let you rest.” Steve made to move away and Tony grabbed him by his newly shorn hair.

“I swear to fucking God, Steve! What did I _just_ say about unilateral decisions?”

He pulled and Steve let himself be guided easily and then they were finally, _finally_ kissing. It was a little tentative at first, as if neither of them could believe they were actually doing this, right here, right now in the Avengers' tower in the 21st century, but it grew more confident rapidly. Steve took his time exploring Tony's mouth and Tony didn't care how long he took. Every second, every moment, was perfect. He carded one hand through Steve's hair and snuck the other one under his t-shirt. Steve's breath hitched at the touch and then he was pressing himself closer to Tony, moaning into his mouth. Tony thought he might be able to spontaneously combust, just from kissing Steve. He lost track of time in the best way possible.

Slowly, Steve pulled away and hovered right above Tony's face, pupils blown and looking deliciously mussed up. Tony was about to protest again that he didn't need a fucking nap, when Steve said: “You know we'll still argue all the time, right?”

“Yeah”, Tony sighed happily, “It'll be glorious.”

“Glorious?”

“Of course. I love angry sex. Don't tell me you didn't imagine bending me over the kitchen counter and shoving your dick up my ass when you were yelling at me just now.”

Steve swallowed hard. “And you would have been okay with that?”

“Hell, yes! Nothing better. Nothing better than getting the orneriness fucked out of me. God, Steve, the way you would be able to hold me down and just make me take it... to make me forget what I was angry about and to make me beg for you instead... ungh!”

“Shut up, Tony. You'll make me come in my pants.” Tony glanced down and was impressed by the erection tenting Steve's sweatpants. He slid his hand out from under Steve's shirt and slid it into the front of the sweats. Steve was going commando... Tony's mouth went dry. He caressed the velvety head of Steve's dick, reveling in how solid and warm and right it felt in his hand. Steve trembled above him and he pulled him in for a messy kiss that was mostly open mouths and panting breaths.

“Tony, we can't... Your leg,” Steve managed to breathe into Tony's mouth. Tony smiled under the onslaught.

“Not that,” he managed. “We'll save the athletic angry sex for another time. But we are going to make us come right now.” He looked Steve in the eye. “Straddle me, one leg on each side of my hips, no pressure on my legs”. Steve shakily moved into place. Tony used both hands to push his sweats down and told Steve to do the same for his track pants. He caught Steve licking his lips as he exposed Tony's dick, which was leaking profusely. Good, they wouldn't need lube and it looked like blow jobs would definitely be in his future. He guided Steve back up so he was holding himself up over Tony and then Tony smeared around the precome and took both of them in hand. They both gasped as Tony wrapped his fingers around them and a moment later Steve's hand was on top of Tony's and then he was kissing him again, much more forcefully. Steve was holding himself up on just one arm and that by itself would have been enough to blow Tony's mind. As it was, he knew he wasn't going to last long at all.

“Just so you know,” he panted, tearing his mouth away from Steve momentarily, “I'm calling dibs on your virginity.”

“As if that was ever in question, Stark.” Steve managed to sound breathless and snarky at the same time and Tony loved that. Steve increased the pressure of his hand and thrust forcefully, sliding so fucking perfectly along Tony's dick it made him keen. “Just look at you. Jesus, Tony...” Tony lifted his head so he could look at the both of them sliding in and out of Steve's fist and the sight of it, the sound of it was too much. He couldn't hold back anymore. He dropped his head back on the pillow and arched up into Steve as orgasm slammed through his body. Steve followed right after, moaning loudly into Tony's neck and both their shirts got striped with come. He kept the presence of mind not to let his weight drop onto Tony's leg and managed to fall away to the side.

They lay there staring at each other and smiling sappily while trying to catch their breath. Steve caught it first, of course.

“As if I anyone else was even an option, Tony.”

Tony pulled him close and kissed him languidly. The he yawned and pulled his pants up.

“Now I am ready for a nap,” he admitted. Steve straightened his clothes and made a face at his shirt. Then he pulled it off and made to get off the bed.

“Stay,” said Tony. “I mean, if you have nothing else to do. The only thing I miss about that hermit-infested wasteland is using you as my personal space heater at night.”

Steve laid back down and removed Tony's come streaked shirt. Then he wrapped himself around Tony in the way that made Tony feel mushy in ways he didn't want to admit yet. Steve mumbled something into his hair.

“What?”

“I said, don't lie to me, before you know it you'll be talking about the good old days in Albion.”

“That'll be a cold day in hell, dude.”

“Mark my words, Tony. It'll be the story you're going to be telling at parties of 'how we got together'.”

Tony tried to elbow him, unsuccessfully. Steve just pulled him closer and smiled into his neck. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was the firs time I participated in any kind of Big Bang event. These are the things I learned:  
> 1) They are a whole lot of fun!  
> 2) Word count guidelines are meaningless. 6k. Right. I was shooting for 20. That number was meaningless too.  
> 3) It is both easier and harder than posting a fic chapter by chapter while you're writing it. It is easier to go back and retcon stuff you changed your mind about. It is harder because of deadlines.  
> 4) Deadlines? Yikes!  
> 5) I am a total pantser. I cannot plot to save my life. Or rather, I cannot stick to the plot and keep having to add chapters to get where I wanted to go. See point 2 and 4.  
> I swear to god this was supposed to be short, light and humorous fic with lots of Monty Python and the Holy Grail type shenanigans. But Steve was having none of that, insisting on getting all serious and stuff. And once they hit the campfire chapter (which was supposed to be a one or two paragraph introduction to the bomb chapter) I decided to stop fighting it and just go along with writing a more serious character arc for him. 
> 
> As for where all the hermits came from, I was going to use Sit Thomas Malory's Morte D'Arthur for inspiration on what a bunch of guys looking for the Grail would run into. If you're familiar with the work you may recognize a few things, but a lot less than I had originally planned. I read the whole 1000+ pages of that book for my English class in High School, decades ago. Let's just say that, revisiting that book for this fic, I don't know how I ever made it through it. Besides all the endless 'come at me, bro!'s that the knights unleashed on each other, it was crawling with hermits, holy men and wandering ladies dispensing wisdom and giving orders in supremely condescending ways. Malory obviously thought they were excellent plot devices on one hand and a great way of mansplaining the symbolism that ignorant readers otherwise might have missed. And then I tried to imagine Tony Stark being told what to do by hermit after hermit and that decided it: I had to keep the hermits. 
> 
> This story may possibly, eventually, get an epilogue when Tony's leg is healed.
> 
> I post writing updates on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/marilenalena).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] Keeping Warm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178720) by [xinsomniac1101x (xCapsiclexShellheadx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCapsiclexShellheadx/pseuds/xinsomniac1101x)




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